It Could Be Worse 2nd Season
by Sulia Serafine
Summary: The hits keep on coming and all your favorites are back again! set in a futuristic universe Complete
1. Take a Break!

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

Episode 1: Take a Break

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Yup. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

New! From now on, thoughts go in the Italics. In the past, I did them in quotes, but I find that kind of… annoying after a while. Emphasized words are in Italics, too. Flashbacks also go in Italics, but they can't be confused with thoughts. Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at "mailto:silverwLng@aol.com", okay?]

Keladry Mindelan tucked the file of documents under her arm as she confidently made her way through the main offices in Tortall's DJPF Headquarters. The white paper-thin walls and cubicles seemed identical in their rows besides offices of glass and stainless steel. She brushed past secretaries and other clerks to reach the office at the end of the hall belonging to her superior, Commissioner Wyldon. She pressed the intercom button, emitting a buzz from inside. A dull voice sounded within.

"Come in."

She waited until the doors slid open. She bowed slightly to the aging but strong-spirited man. Dutifully, she spoke. "I've finished clearing out that ring of illegal smuggling down on Claymoore Street with the assistance of the other three officers assigned. Here's the report."

Wyldon glanced up from his papers. "Oh. All right. Just set it down."

"Requesting information for my next case, sir?"

"Uh…" He honestly didn't know what to give her. The smugglers had been quite a problem. He had not expected his officers to finish the assignment so early. It should have taken a couple more months. This had taken mere weeks. He scratched his chin. "There's complaints of a new gang forming on the East Side of the district. Around Elm, I believe."

"I'm on it, sir."

~~

Wyldon blew gently at his steaming hot coffee in his antique mug. He reached for the creamer, groping around his desk with one hand while concentrating on the drink in his other hand. All of a sudden, the bottle of creamer dropped into his palm. He frowned and looked up.

"Officer Mindelan?"

She saluted. "Back, sir."

He set down his mug onto a cork coaster and reached for his digital calendar sitting on the corner of his desk. "But," he began, "I gave you this assignment just a week ago!"

"With assistance from Officers Kennan and Queenscove, the offending persons have been warned and investigated. They are no longer a threat. If they resume their actions, than the three of us shall go back and straighten them out. Requesting new information on my next case?" she held her head high in confidence. She had not screwed up even once. This was something full of pride.

Wyldon blinked. "Um, okay… How about a Mr. Brahm Schieght," he paused and peered down at his own handwriting. He'd have to remind himself to get a new ball point pen. The ink was very faint on the recyclable paper. For a long time, his secretaries had tried to get him to use his electronic organizer, but pen and synthetic paper was not archaic to him at all. He'd been raised in a fairly rural town where sheets of clear plastic and ink were not widespread. 

"Sir?" Keladry interrupted his thoughts. "Mr. Brahm Scheight has been doing what?"

He looked down at the paper. "He's been skipping out on parole. Track him down and send him to the nearest bail enforcement officers in the building."

"Yes, sir!"

"Here. Go to the copy room and put this on plastic, hmm?" He handed her the paper.

"I will. Thank you, sir."

Wyldon frowned as she left. "She's actually happy to be given a task. I don't believe it."

~~

"Perhaps this would be a good time to practice my golf swing," Wyldon thought to himself. Just then, the door slid open and _she_ walked in.

"Mr. Brahm Scheight has been taken into custody. Sir?"

He picked up the first note on his desk to catch his eye. "Uh… how about finding the whereabouts of a Miss Henrietta Masters? She hasn't paid her taxes in ten years and has been hiding out. Maybe this time, Mindelan--"

"Got it, sir! Miss Henrietta Masters!" She was gone in a matter of seconds.

"Oh boy," Wyldon muttered. "Perhaps I should just transfer her assignments to Chief Hennegan. Why oh why did I agree to personally overlook all first class officers?"

~~

"Sir! I'm back. Miss--"

"I don't care, I _don't care_," Wyldon grabbed the sides of his head. He took a deep breath. "Mindelan, why are you back so early?"

She frowned. "I successfully completed my job, Commissioner."

"Any other officer would have reported to me in a week, maybe two. We're not picky about time on these small cases."

"Well, I'm dedicated, sir," she answered, acting as if it were natural and that he was the strange one.

Wyldon rolled his eyes. "I would have thought after the Immortals that you'd tone it down a bit. You know, enjoy the life of a privileged officer. Lazy until I come to yell at you and send you out of the city on some bogus case."

"What are you saying, sir?" she asked uncertainly.

Outside the office, Joren was fast approaching. He needed to ask permission to leave for a week so he could see a parts dealer out somewhere on the coast for his bike. He was technically on medical leave because of his injuries from Rikash and Roger Conté, but now he had to go out of town. Officers were required to tell them where they'd be going. Unfortunately, all the other secretaries were too busy to pass this information on to the commissioner. Thus, he had to face Wyldon and ask him to his face. As he neared the office, he noticed someone was already there before him.

"Like I care," he grumbled and pushed the intercom button. There wasn't even a response. The door simply slid open for him to enter. "Commissioner, I--"

He stopped dead in his tracks. Keladry turned to see whom it was.

"Oh, hey," she greeted. 

"Yeah, hey," he said in return, dismissing her from his mind as soon as possible. "Commissioner--" Wyldon held up his hand and pointed to a seat. The blonde young man rolled his eyes. He sat down in one of Wyldon's armchairs. Hoping to annoy the commissioner into paying attention to him, he propped up his feet on the immaculate desk and stamped his heel so some specks of dirt scattered across the surface. Keladry, who had been watching out of the corner of her eye, wrinkled her nose in disapproval.

Wyldon nodded. He paid no attention to the other man. "Yes, of course. Now, Mindelan, the fact is… you've been working way too hard. I don't have any cases left that are fit to give you! And this is Tortall, the largest city on Earth!" He sighed and started to straighten up the stacks of paper on his desk. "With that being said, I'm giving you a bloody vacation."

"But sir," Keladry protested. "Don't you want to hear my report on Miss Masters?"

"No!"

"But--"

"But nothing, Officer! You're the only officer I know of in this whole entire building who seems disappointed in a _vacation_! Just go! Get out of my sight!"

She grimaced, as if wounded by his lack of devotion to the 'cause'. Keladry got up out of her seat and tried to make pleading gestures with her hands. "Sir, please, I wouldn't know how to spend my vacation. Would it be possible for me to help out at the offices or train rookies? Maybe I could take an apprentice since I'm already high rank--"

"Argh!" Wyldon set his hands on the side of his desk and leaned forward towards her. "Mindelan! Since you do not know how to enjoy a vacation, then I will also send some fellow officers with you! _You_!" He pointed at Joren, who immediately raised one eyebrow when he was being addressed. "You are to accompany Officer Mindelan!"

Keladry held down a smirk. "Stone? Show me how to have fun? Uh, sir, I think you're asking the wrong person."

"I was actually going to request leave to go to the coast, sir--" Joren began.

"Fine!" Wyldon stood up. His face was red. "I'll assign that other officer, that really energetic one-- Cleon Kennan-- he'll go with you as well! And while I'm at it, I'll ship off Nealan Queenscove!" He sat down triumphantly. "There! Gives me a chance to get _all_ of you away from me for a while! Now those two goofy morons-- er, idiots, er-- I mean officers, are accompanying the two of you, have a _good_ vacation! OR ELSE!"

Keladry, not knowing what else to do, saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Joren blinked. "Right…"

A few moments later, the door slid shut, and the bewildered DJPF officers stood in the halls of the main offices. Keladry folded her arms across her chest, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She didn't really know what to do after that. Joren had a wide stance, with one hand scratching the back of his head, and the other hung down by his side. Their eyes met for a moment, and then looked away.

"I think he finally cracked."

"Understatement."

Keladry smoothed down her familiar baby blue and gray uniform jacket. She headed down the hall, looking over her shoulder to signal that he should accompany her to talk. He caved in and followed. His hands placed themselves in his pockets, looking upward at the ceiling as they ambled out of the main offices and back into the open core of Headquarters.

"So…"

"So?" he raised one eyebrow.

Keladry stopped right before they were to step onto an escalator. She stared at him intensely for ten seconds, trying to figure out what to say. The last few minutes had gone by so fast, and so very strangely. All she had expected was another assignment to be systematically dealt with like always. And here she was greeted with the freedom to do what she wanted. But what was that?

"You were going to say something, Mindelan?" he asked, his eyelids drooped in a sign of boredom.

"Yeah," she nodded instantly, having snapped out of her thoughts. "I should guess it's up to me to break the news to Cleon and Neal."

He shook his head a bit. "You sound like you're telling them _bad_ news."

She stiffened. Her posture became more correct as she strove to stand tall and confident. "Well, hey! They might have had plans. And something like this could have ruined them."

"I doubt those two morons would be disappointed."

She growled softly in annoyance. "We don't even know where we're going for this stupid _vacation_."

He raised his hand to stop her. "Oh, but we do." His face took on a self-satisfied expression. "I already have arrangements to meet with my dealer who hates using the ferry to get from Carthak's side of the Great Inland Sea to ours."

"What?" Her eyes widened when she realized what he had in mind. "No. Cleon, Neal, and I are not going to let you use this to do what _you_ want for your stupid bike and leave the rest of us stuck at an ugly hotel in an horrible city." She was surprised how angry she was at him, but realized she was still angry from the last couple of encounters. It felt better now to vent her feelings instead of bottling them up. 

Joren wasn't a close friend. He _was_ close-- not in the right way… but like a headache that would not disappear. And then, slowly kill you. One way or another.

He didn't seem bothered by her outburst. He wasn't fazed by much, not unless it struck close to home, for example, his past. This time was no exception. So, he looked at her with that degree of reserved calm that irked her and said, "There _is_ a beach resort. That'll keep the three of you busy."

"Beach resort? What's it called?" she asked suspiciously.

"Seastone Resort. Look it up if you have to," he replied. "Going to my room. Call me when you and the other two mama's boys have talked."

Before she could protest, he was on the escalator heading for the dorms. She gritted her teeth and glared at him until he was out of sight. He had the audacity to already plan out everything because he'd intended to ditch Headquarters anyway. All for that bike. Though admiring she was of that bike, it still frustrated her how it came first in everything, and was often the reason for her irate state. 

In other words, the bike frequently pissed her off. As much as an object could piss a person off. She ought to do something terrible to the Black Knight. But then, no doubt, she'd regret it later when her partner made her life a living hell. Maybe he'd do something to her bike. There was no telling. 

"Just forget it for now. Page the guys," she whispered to herself as she contacted the two resident goof-offs, Cleon Kennan and Neal Queenscove. She left messages on their pagers for them to meet her at Ms. Daine Sarassri's office for the afternoon. If she remembered correctly, Neal frequently turned his pager off to catch an afternoon nap without disruptions and Cleon never answered his because he turned the volume down so low, he couldn't hear the beeps.

In the meantime, she decided to brush up on her unarmed combat skills, so she headed to the training center. As soon as she spied the clear doors and neon sign from afar, she knew she missed it. There were a lot of things Keladry had missed while being mistaken for a criminal and moving from city to city encountering enemy upon enemy. She gingerly hopped off the moving walkway with a smile creeping onto her face. 

The clear doors parted, and she arrived at the second set of doors where she stopped to scan her identification from her wrist. There was a long pause as the screen went black. For a moment, fear gripped her. What if her identification didn't go through and the training center security still had her filed as a traitor? 

MINDELAN 1-B. ENTRANCE GRANTED.

She breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded across the threshold into the familiar home away from home. Keladry took off her jacket and clutched the fabric in one hand while moving aside to avoid departing men and women from the center. Another woman clad in a baggy gray T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and some spandex pants caught sight of Keladry. At this the woman's face lit up and she jogged on over from her place in the aerobics class.

"Keladry Mindelan! Oh my gosh, I'd heard everything that happened to you. I just can't believe it all!" The girl with black hair pinned up in a sloppy bun hugged Kel tightly, grinning and laughing the whole time. She released the slightly taller girl. "My, things have changed since the Academy."

"Not that much, Uline," Keladry replied. She allowed herself a small smile. Uline had been very nice to her. But since the other was older and not as close, Keladry didn't allow herself to show the smiles that she reserved for the closest eight people to her heart. It was an automatic defense she wasn't proud of, but Uline didn't seem bothered by it. "So how are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Still interning. Ugh," she rolled her eyes in derision. Then she giggled and led Kel over to a bench beside Instructor Nariko's class. "I'm _almost_ done though! If I play my cards right, and give an extra year interning in the training center; I'm told I can have a chance at a really nice resident position here in HQ. The training center, of course."

Keladry tucked some of her light brown bangs behind her right hear. She tried to put all of Uline's chatter into one conclusion. "So… you want to be an instructor?"

Uline pressed her lips together as if she was trying not to blurt out a secret. "Oh, it's something like that. Maybe a self-defense teacher. I don't even have to be DJPF anymore! Don't get me wrong, I love it and all. But I'm starting to think that I want something else. You know… it's absolutely fantastic that you have this… this first rate position and everything, but I wanted something with a stable location and minimal danger. I think I might get married soon."

"To who?" Keladry cocked her head. In her head, she thought, "I miss out a couple of months and so much has already happened to the people I went to school with. What else did I possibly miss?"

"Oh, um… this guy. He's an editor for Inform Magazine." She snapped her fingers. "Oh yeah, he's Warric Mandash's cousin. He introduced me to him after aerobics class one day. I owe all this to him."

As if he heard his name, Warric approached them. Keladry always noticed his short hair cut. It was unlike Faleron's because instead of flattening against his head, Warric's hair puffed out and looked a little ridiculous on him. For some reason, she also noticed that his nose had changed, too. It was longer and narrower than she remembered it.

_He always scratched his nose when he was unsure about something. And he used to sit beside me at the Academy. Warric could spend the whole class period doing that_, she thought nervously.

His shirt was soaked down the middle in sweat, and he breathed heavily from the exercise he'd been doing. "Hello, ladies. What's up?"

"Uline's been telling me about things I've missed since I've been away," Keladry explained. "How are you Warric? It's been so long. Do you have some job goals as well?"

Warric chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I am hoping to get a start as a deputy somewhere a little north of here when internship is done. Do you know that almost everyone in our graduating class and last year's class from Tortall Academy has been transferred out of city? There are already so many officers here, and so little Academies elsewhere that we've been a little… overstocked, I guess you might say."

She nodded. Uline gestured beside her. "Sit down, you silly boy."

"I'm hardly a boy." He sat down, pretending to give her a nasty look. She returned the look. For about fifteen seconds, they locked gazes in a strange way that Keladry felt uncomfortable with.

"So," Keladry interrupted them. "Uline also tells me that you've played matchmaker with her and your cousin, right, Warric?"

He leaned forward so he could look around Uline and at Keladry. "Oh yeah." He coughed. "They are a great couple, my coz and Uline." He scratched his nose. "Wonderful."

_He scratched his nose_, she thought. _Does that mean what I think it means?_

"Oh, look at the time. I have to wash up and go in for some studying. Excuse me, ladies. It's been great seeing you again, Keladry."

"Kel," she piped up, feeling suddenly sorry for him in a way she knew she had to keep to herself. 

"Kel. Right," he smiled. He glanced briefly at Uline. "Bye, Uline. I'll tell Iden you said 'hi'."

She grinned. She didn't have a clue to his feelings. "Bye, Warric!"

At that point, Keladry felt she had to get up and go somewhere else. "I think I'm going to go say hi to the Wildcat and Instructor Hakuin. I'll see you later?"

"Of course! You bet! See you!" She waved as she ran off, heading for the water dispenser. 

Keladry walked to the back of the training center to the sparring rings. She stepped aside for a punching bag to swing in front of her as a man with a maintenance logo on the back of his jumpsuit moved it with the help of another man in the same gray uniform. Then she jogged past, hoping to avoid another run in with swinging bags of any sort.

Finally, she spotted her two favorite instructors sitting down outside a ring. The training at the Academy had been great. They taught her the basics-- marksmanship and what to do in emergency situations. It was here during internship that Eda Bell was intently watching a couple of men boxing within while Hakuin was enjoying a blue sports drink. He saw her first.

"If it isn't my favorite butt-kicker!" he exclaimed. He nudged his fellow instructor. Eda Bell turned away briefly to see her. She nodded her head politely at her and returned to supervising the match within the ring. 

"Hello, Instructor," she said in a semi-bored, semi-taunting voice. "Where's the apprentice you had?"

"Switched to interning for the homicide division. Is it that hard to guess?" Eda said while keeping her eyes focused within the ring. Hakuin opened his mouth to retort, but Keladry put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, no, I don't care, Instructors. Forget it. I just came by to say hello. It's been a very long time, and since I've been back, I don't believe I've come to visit." 

He nodded. "Oh, I see. Well, that's great. We've been doing fine. And in light of my loss of an apprentice, I've decided to give it a rest and wait again until next year." He tossed a look over his shoulder at Eda whom only smirked. Hakuin took another sip of his drink. "Aww, who am I kidding? The rookies come out of the Academy already knowing to watch out for ol' Seastone."

_Seastone. What am I supposed to remember about that? _Keladry wondered to herself.

"Hey, they're required to see you if they want to get unarmed combat skills for higher level ranks and divisions. Such as those who eventually wish for bodyguard detail, right? I mean, they do see you two, don't they?" she frowned. 

"Are you kidding me? Nariko hogs most of the students. Senior Training Instructor, my ass," he muttered. At this, Eda raised her foot and stomped down on his. She went back to watching the boxers. He yelped at picked up his foot, massaging it with one hand. Keladry rolled her eyes.

"Oh!"

Hakuin released his foot. His dark eyes focused on her. "What?"

"That reminds me. Your name, Seastone."

"Yes, what about it?"

She let out a deep breath to steady herself. "Is there any way you're connected with the Seastone Resort? Because, I'm going down there for this mandatory vacation that Commissioner Wyldon announced for me and the some other people."

He blanched. "Don't bring that place up. My parents are a bunch of no-good, money-grubbing--OW!" He clutched the arm that the Wildcat had pinched. "What was that for?"

The boxing match was over, and the opponents were seated on stools on either side of the ring, resting. Eda Bell was now turned around and scolding Hakuin. "You may not like your folks, but you'd better show some respect to them." She leaned forward and whispered to Keladry. "He was supposed to inherit it after his parents, but he refused and went to the Shangs. He became an instructor. You know the rest."

She nodded. "Yeah. So, how bad is it with your parents?"

He waved her off. "Not as bad as you think. They give out bribes to me a lot to come back. I'm the only child." He paused. "Hey, I could get you and your people some free rooms there. Top of the line. What do you say?"

"I don't know. Doesn't that require you to do something for them?"

"Never did before. Why should I anyway? They're just my parents. OW! Stop that, Eda!"

She withdrew her elbow from his ribs. With that, the aged woman climbed over the ropes and into the ring to talk with the two boxers on their technique. Keladry laughed gently at Hakuin's misfortune and offered to buy him another sports drink.

"No, no. I'm fine. Page me later if you're still interested, Officer. Are you going to stick around for some sparring? I mean, I'd look to see how good you've gotten, but I'm kind of tired from the day," he told her.

"I was, but if you're tired, I can pick on some third class officer. For kicks."

He studied her face. "It's that cold one isn't it?"

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"Stone, right? Usually, you don't spar with less-than worthy opponents for kicks, right? So the guy's twisted attitude rubbing off on you?"

Keladry folded her arms and smiled smugly. "But Instructor Hakuin, I spar with _you_ for kicks."

"Now that's cold," he melodramatically whined. It looked amusing on a man over thirty.

"No, you know I'm kidding," Keladry chuckled lightly. "Go ahead and get out of here. I can entertain myself with some punching bags." She pushed him forward. 

He waved and headed towards the wash room. She waved back and called out her plans to Eda Bell up on the raised platform. The elder female instructor gave a slight nod and immediately returned to showing the boxers another defensive stance. Keladry headed for the change room.

~~

Faleron King adjusted his reading glasses and tapped the keyboard buttons a few times, bringing up a new window on the monitor. From behind him, he could hear Roald shuffling through sheets of documents in old clear plastic folders. Numair had decided to help Roald out by giving him a few jobs while trying to talk it all over with Roald's father, the Vice President. Lalasa took on the role of Daine's personal assistant, and Faleron-- Daine's other business. 

Things were working out well. He'd been able to hide his record from a lot of people eager to get at it. But on the other hand, not too many people had as much skill as he did in a conversation to turn the tables and put the focus on their bad past. 

_I'd be nothing without my wit,_ he concluded. 

There was a ring from the door intercom. Roald stood up and called out. "Lalasa, could you get that? We're kind of busy!"

"Why, you think I'm _not_ busy?" she shouted back, a little annoyed.

"I'm sorry! Don't get mad."

"The answer is still no."

"Why not?"

Daine looked up from the news she was watching on the holo-screen and smiled. "Lalasa, please?"

"Oh, of course Ms. Sarassri!" Lalasa's tune changed dramatically. Roald sighed and chuckled to himself. He really did love Lalasa, for her spirit most of all. There was no way she could ever be a simple housewife. Lalasa had that sort of "move it or lose it" and "I'm not your maid" attitude that faltered only for him. 

But not today.

Numair narrowed his eyes at his fellow Council member. Daine only shrugged and offered him a strawberry pastry. He reluctantly accepted and scribbled some signatures on a few other sheets he'd been reading. Then he put his pen down and started eating.

Lalasa put down the organizer she was sorting onto the table. Then she walked over, brushing her long, dark, and wavy hair over her shoulders. She wanted to pin it up while working, but Roald loved her hair down. And she wasn't about to disappoint him. She liked distracting him. He was helpless around her.

"Hello, please state your name and business," she said into the intercom while holding down the button. She released it and waited for a reply. 

"It's Kel."

Lalasa stepped back. She stepped forward again and punched in the command on the number pad to open the door. Standing patiently on the red brick doorstep was the taller, athletic looking young woman who, up until a few weeks ago, had a severe problem talking about her feelings. Lalasa had felt so happy when Kel started to confide in her, as friends should. 

"It's about time you dropped by," Lalasa scolded. She ushered the other woman inside and promptly shut the doors after her. "What, you don't have time for your civilian friends anymore?"

Keladry stared at her blankly. "I was just here last night--"

"Doesn't matter," she cut her off with a deep embrace. After squeezing so tight, Keladry thought she couldn't breathe, Lalasa let go and jerked a thumb down the hall. "Everyone's in the Room."

The Room in Daine's modest house was a carbon copy of her office downtown with a few perks: a couch and a few recliners, plus the option of holo screen or stereo system. If given a choice between working at her real office and the Room, the stately Councilwoman would choose the Room. It was much more comfortable there. Stress reduced to a fraction of what it was downtown. And she could avoid pesky in-betweeners of politics always knocking on her office door. 

Numair had his own version of the Room, but alas, Lalasa, Faleron, and Roald technically signed to work for Daine. He usually couldn't find excuses to borrow the three from her, so they were left to all be at her brownstone home. 

Keladry admired a hall mirror framed in polished brass. There were only two photograph frames on the walls. Neither included Daine, but instead, a middle aged couple. The woman was obviously Daine's mother, and the man-- whom Kel assumed was her father-- bore brown curls that were wound tightly to his head. One was of a Halloween party at which Daine's father wore horns and had a bow slung over one shoulder.

"Kel?" Lalasa called.

"Coming." She hurried her pace to the Room. As soon as she entered, there was a chorus of various greetings and one brief hug from Roald. Faleron remained seated where he was behind the polished wood desk, but he picked up his hat and used it to salute her. She did the same, though it was a pantomime since she possessed no hat.

"Are Cleon and Neal here yet?"

"_Hey! That's my cookie! Darn you, Kennan!_ _I called it first!_" a voice came from the kitchen.

Faleron removed his glasses and cleaned them off with a cloth on the desktop. He sighed and looked over his shoulder at the door leading to the kitchen. "Does that answer you question, Officer?"

Kel moved toward the door. "What did I tell you about calling me Officer, Faleron?"

"Not to, Officer."

"I give up," she said, exasperated. She paused for a moment for the door to slide open, than realized it was an archaic door. _Well, of course there are regular doors here. The brownstone houses in this neighborhood are all classics. _She hoped no one noticed and twisted the knob, then pushed forward.

As she walked down the narrow servant's corridor (though there were no servants at Daine's house), Keladry could hear more of her two fellow first class officers in the kitchen.

"Did you find any orange soda in there? I like orange soda, but Faleron forgot to pick some up for me last time he was at the supermarket when I paged him." That was Cleon.

The next voice had to be none other than Neal. "Are you planning to steal Ms. Sarassri's? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don't think she would have any. More likely to have pounds of coffee beans."

Keladry knocked on the white wooden door before turning the knob and entering. "Hey, guys."

"Tough Stuff!" they cheered simultaneously whiles both coming forward to hug her. Between the two of them, this time she really couldn't breathe. Both started talking as if each were having a private conversation with her right there and then.

"Whoa! Down, boys," she gasped while pushing them away. She caught her breath. "Well, glad to see you, too."

Cleon Kennan, the redheaded mischief-maker and jokester extraordinaire had an undeniable adorable grin on his face. He always smiled so innocently that it was hard for someone to picture him causing any trouble. Although, Cleon was still prone to the more extreme emotions, but it was only in times of crisis. His bright green eyes were always laughing, even in the most melancholy times. He was good for cheering most people up. Like he had done for Faleron in Scanra, when the shorter boy had been convicted of murder.

Neal, properly Neal Queenscove, was one of her first friends. Ever. At the Academy, he and Owen had opened her up a little so that at least when she was with them, she showed some emotion. Of course, her natural defense mechanism still worked and she still acted stiff in front of strangers. He hoped to heal that in time. His father was the head doctor and surgeon working exclusively for the DJPF HQ. Perhaps that was how Neal got the idea to be in law enforcement. Perhaps he thought that 'chicks' would dig the uniform. Neal was a player. Or at least, he fancied himself to be. And she would admit he had conquests. She didn't care to know how many, because the fact slightly disgusted her, but he did. He did.

The point was, both were her dear friends, and she couldn't stand to be without either of them. And even during the last couple of months during the Immortals disaster, Cleon-- the sharpshooter-- had been by her side and Neal-- the listener-- communicated with her when he could. Which was very rare, after the warrant for her arrest had been placed everywhere.

"Hey, hold these will you? We'll take them into the Room and sit down for a nice movie. Did you know that Ms. Sarassri has a Kitten Entertainment System? Stereo Surround!" After Cleon's enthusiastic statement, he and Neal slapped high fives. 

Cleon handed Kel two bags of chips, and then a bottle of citrus flavored soda. Then he repositioned her arms to hold more food while he and Neal held nothing. Keladry tried to interrupt the constant stream of chatter coming from him. 

"Hey!" she finally silenced him, when she shoved the last bag her gave her back into his arms. "I wanted to tell you guys something. That's why I called you here, not to raid Ms. Sarassri's refrigerator!"

They looked abashed. 

"Well, what was it, Tough Stuff?" Neal asked. 

"Take some of these first. By Glory," she muttered softly. Neal took a bottle of soda and the sour cream and onion dip. They waited for her to continue.

_Amazing. They're actually quiet._ "Well, when reporting in this morning to the Commissioner--"

"Oh, great. Another job. Kel, I appreciate you trying to keep us on our toes and all, but all these little assignments you've been dragging us to lately are really starting to get on my nerves," Neal voiced his opinion. "I mean, we're first class now. There are very few first class officers who aren't overseas right now, because there's nothing big going on. Not after Ozorne and Roger Conté's mess. So, why don't we take a break and just kick back until Wyldon really needs us, huh?"

She stared at him for a total of two seconds before kicking his shin. 

"OW!" He lifted up his leg reflexively. This caused him to lose his balance and fall back onto the floor on his butt. "Oof!" He grimaced and looked up at her. "What the hell was that for?"

"I was _about_ to say we were going to take a break, before you interrupted me. _Again_," Keladry said sternly. Cleon started to laugh, but she shot him a look. He cheeks flushed pink and he settled for an uncharacteristic shy smile.

As they headed back to the room, Keladry handed off the food and drinks to the two older guys and paged Hakuin for the free offers. They would stay for a whole month. And Keladry would make sure that Hakuin showed some appreciation to his parents by putting in a couple sentences here and there to Mr. and Mrs. Seastone when she arrived.

Ten minutes into the movie (an action flick of Cleon's choice), Neal got an idea and hit the pause button on the remote.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Lalasa demanded.

"I got the greatest idea! Why don't you guys come _with_ us to the resort, huh?" He suddenly looked to Daine and Numair. "If that would be okay for you…"

Daine thought for a moment. "I'm afraid _we_ can't go," she gestured to herself and Numair, "but for now, I suppose it would be all right for Faleron to take the vacation."

Roald wasn't bothered by the decision, being obedient as ever, but he noticed Lalasa's disappointment. Daine continued. "It would be perfectly fine for Numair to join you two weeks into the vacation and _borrow_ my remaining two assistants. I really have to stay, no matter what. I have to figure out where I want to spend the year. Here in this city or elsewhere."

"That's awesome!" Cleon exclaimed. He turned and nudged Faleron, who was sitting behind the couch. "Hear that, buddy? You get a month off, and you haven't even finished the first month of work! Isn't life great?"

Faleron smiled faintly; he was pleased only if Cleon was pleased. 

Lalasa shrugged it off. "It's better than nothing. Okay. You people got yourselves a deal."

Kel yawned and started paging Hakuin again. "I hope he won't feel he's being taken advantage of."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll pay for my three _slaves_," Daine winked. 

Kel smiled, nodded, and stopped her pager. Then she remembered that Joren said to call him as soon as she'd talked to Cleon and Neal. 

_Why should I have to miss part of the movie because of him? I'll wait until_ _after_…

~~

1:00 AM

Joren dozed soundly on his plain single bed. Contrary to how most people thought the regulated, professional, and inconsiderate guy to slumber, he slept with the sheets tangled around his legs and wound around his waist, and the pillows either on the edge of the bed about to fall off or the pillows on the floor. 

When his door intercom beeped, needless to say, his instinctive reaction to wake up and move quickly was not the best for the occasion. That reaction was reserved for sleeping in the field, and moving quickly at the first sound to ensure not being shot. In this case, he moved off the bed-- tumbled, really-- and hit the floor with a thud. He grimaced and touched his side and felt the bandages around his waist come loose. He secured them and let his head drop back down. He closed his eyes again.

"Hello? Stone, are you awake?" a familiar female voice called through the intercom. Joren, now wide-awake, kicked the sheets off violently and stumbled around his nightstand and bed. For some odd reason, this was the first time he could move around in the dark with no visibility whatsoever… and still make it to the door without bumping into the wall.

He didn't care to check identification. Whoever it was, he or she was going to get cursed out. He angrily punched the button that opened the door. He squinted as the hall lights, though dim; caused him to feel like he was staring at the garish sun.

"Mindelan?" he blinked sleepily. 

"Hey, Stone," she said rather nervously. She'd never seen him so disoriented, but she was sure he could still insult her no matter what state he was in. His unique white blond hair was tousled, and his posture slack. Yes. He was certainly out of it.

_Because you woke him up, duh._ She cleared her throat. "You said to call you after I told the guys the news."

Joren shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose gently, as if warding off a headache. "Do you know what time it is?"

She checked her wrist pager. "Oh, after one. Sorry. But, did you know that the dorm lines are down? I tried calling you around eight and then at nine. No connection. I came from Ms. Sarassri's house just _now_."

"Well, just fine," he groused. He leaned on the doorframe, yawning and stretching his arms. This gave her a chance to study him. He had no shirt on, just baggy black sweatpants that fell low on his narrow hips. He did have bandages around his waist from being shot. That was rapidly healing, so she was told. And there were new pink scars left behind from Rikash's claws. There were those taut lean muscles again. She'd first glimpsed them when she knocked on his bathroom door in some city in the Yamanis. She hadn't meant to see him the first time. 

_Don't lower yourself to their level,_ she commanded herself. At that exact moment, fleeting images of the 'trendy' girls at her regular school, then the Academy, then HQ itself appeared in her mind. They were always ogling over some guy's muscles. It was absolutely shallow how they judged on looks and style. She was not about to start down that road.

Joren arched his back in another large yawn and stretch. 

_Aww, damn. There I am on that road._

"So, what'd moron number one and two say?" he asked dully.

It was easier to focus on his face when he was trashing her friends. "They're going. Oh, and Instructor Hakuin said he could get the four of us free rooms for a month. Is that enough for you and your precious bike?"

The insult did not bother him. He merely nodded. Then, he turned his back, went back into his room, and shut the door. But not before Keladry could glimpse the burn scars. She'd never gotten a good look at them that one time. But now that she did, she realized that there was a lot of tissue damage. It looked truly painful.

"Don't start feeling sorry for him. He's nothing but a jerk. Manipulative asshole," she whispered to raise her spirits. A good night's sleep was in order. Yes, that was the solution. She would crawl into bed and dream content things.

Instead, she ended up dreaming of her sitting uncomfortably on the beach, listening to a frantic Wyldon yelling via communications screen. Two brunettes slapped Cleon and Neal. Faleron was chasing Jump, who had his hat. And Joren walked his motorcycle by her, with nothing on but his sweatpants.

~~

The ferry was very quiet that time around. The crowds went on the early morning ferries, not the ones during lunch like the vacationing officers were. Faleron was peacefully sleeping on one bench. His hat was tipped over his eyes. Cleon and Neal had borrowed Faleron's deck of cards to play a game of Blackjack. That left Keladry to get some food from the line in the center of the passenger area. She came back and gave some bags of chips and bottled drinks to the card players. Then she sat across from Joren, who was fiddling with his portable database.

The muted light from the dull gray sky disappointed her. She expected bright and sunny weather for their embarking on a splendid month at Seastone Resort. _It's only the first day. It'll get better by tomorrow,_ she thought optimistically. She took a sip of her bottled water and tried to peer at what Joren was doing.

He looked up when he sensed her curious eyes. She sat back again and wordlessly held out some food for him from her tray. He rolled his eyes and accepted the offering.

"We're on a ferry in the Great Inland Sea and you're giving me an freaking apple. Déjà vu."

"Just eat it," she goaded. "By the way, what are you looking at?"

He held the screen away from her, but took a bite of the apple. "None of your business. Why don't you go play cards or something, huh?"

She set down her bottle and glared at him. "Maybe I don't _feel_ like playing cards."

"Tough luck," he snapped and took another bite. "Go."

Keladry folded her arms. She was on vacation, right? That meant she could do things and say things that she normally couldn't, or wouldn't… right? Perhaps it would be best to get a feel for it and start right _then_.

"Well, maybe I don't feel like being told what to do by a egotistical blonde asshole," she retorted. "Sometimes you just make me sick."

If there had been mild chatter in their area of the passenger space, it had been reduced to zilch. Neal and Cleon dropped the cards they'd been holding onto the table and turned in their seats to stare at the two feuding companions. Neal gulped and nudged Cleon on the arm. The redhead nodded and hurried over to where Faleron was sleeping on his bench beside Joren and Keladry. He nearly knocked over his chair in the process.

"What is it?" Faleron asked as he was yanked up from his resting spot. Cleon dragged him over to his and Neal's table, where they watched the verbal war unfold. Faleron removed his hat and replaced his contacts' case from where it was falling out of his pocket. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. The first thing he saw caused him to slink behind his two other friends, not wanting to be so close to the line of fire.

"Here it comes…" Neal whispered apprehensively. 

It started.

"Asshole? Oh, I'm the asshole? That's right, blame it all on _me_!" Joren thundered. He set the half-eaten apple down. "It's never you, Miss Goody-two-shoes-I'm-always-perfect-and-do-whatever-I'm-told! You think you've got all the problems--"

"I never said I did!" she protested. "Though I probably do have it better because it seems I don't have all the enemies _you_ do! And I'm better because I didn't die, like, seventeen times, did I?" Her fist slammed down on the table as she stood up. 

Joren also stood up when she made the remark on his dying. "Okay, that happened once, genius! All right…" he paused. "Maybe twice. But I suppose it's too much to expect you to know how to count!" Here he spat at her feet. "And at least I was pulling my weight, instead of running around, getting lost like some little red riding hood in the forest!"

"That's not what happened and you know it, you son of a bitch!"

"But I bet you it was running through your head, wasn't it? Wasn't it?" 

An employee of the ferry inched his way toward Cleon and Neal. He looked like he meant to break it up, but was too scared to do anything. Neal became bold and did it for him.

"Hey, Stone--"

"Fuck off, Queenscove," Joren spat maliciously, shoving the taller man backward. 

"No, why don't you fuck off," Keladry shouted. "Leave him out of this!"

"Kel, maybe I could--"

"Back off, Neal!" she yelled at him. Neal, wide-eyed, did as he was told and sat down at his table again. He shrugged helplessly. He didn't feel like losing an arm to stop the two out-of-control people about to set the walls on fire with their heated argument.

"I am so tired of seeing you act like some bad ass that I know you aren't!" Keladry shrieked. She removed the cap from her bottle and splashed his leather jacket. Joren cursed freely, using a couple of phrases that made the spectators wince.

"PMSing psycho bitch! Why the hell did you start all this raging shit?" He took off his jacket and twisted around to get out of the booth. He felt a sharp pain across his midsection, but chose to ignore it. Joren gritted his teeth. "Do us all a favor and take some stupid Midol or whatever, 'kay?" He kicked the seat next to her, purposely missing because he never did hit her during their arguments, and stalked away.

"I wish you really were dead!" she screamed after him.

He paused before leaving the passenger area and turned around. "Well then. That makes the two of us."

It ended.

Faleron cleared his throat. "Well, that came out of nowhere."

"Wonderful start to a vacation," Neal agreed sarcastically. They all continued to stare uneasily at Keladry who had since then sat down and grouchily continued eating her meal.

She put down her fork. "What are you guys staring at, huh?"

They immediately averted their gazes, whistling innocently and pretending to be interested in the patterns on the ceiling. She shook her head and slumped down in her seat. _Okay, maybe speaking my mind really should be restricted. Every time I work up the courage to do it, it only makes me feel worse,_ she told herself. _But I shouldn't just let him talk to people like that. What gives him the right?_ She paused. _I don't get it. He's capable of having a freaking heart. He just doesn't_ want _to have one._ _The jerk._

~~

"Beaches and babes, here I come," Neal said as they walked into the lobby of Seastone Resort. A few young women in bathing suits and robes passed by, giggling. He winked at them.

"Dude, save it for later. We have to check in," Cleon pulled him towards the desk. Faleron and Keladry followed them. Joren was already at the desk, waiting for a person handling rooms to be available to talk to.

Faleron set down his bags and looked around. The lobby had a sea theme, with polished shells and fake crystals embedded in the sandstone walls. The white wicker furniture complimented the rest of the decorations. Lots of tourists were dressed in summer clothing-- shorts, tank tops, and wide-brimmed hats. His own black hat seemed out of place. Maybe he ought to buy a straw hat for the beach. 

Cleon and Neal were already dressed, ready for parties and bars in the coast town of Blythdin. Each wore tropic style shirts with loud colors and flowers. Cleon had some baggy khaki shorts while Neal still had on his faded jeans. 

"I wonder what the bars are like around here. I've been completely away from beer this whole entire time, and I tell ya, I can't take it anymore," Neal joked. 

"I know the feeling. Kel makes a good chaperone when walking through the Crypt. Dragged me away from the barkeep twice." He flashed a grin at her. She smiled briefly, then resumed her quiet, contemplative state.

Faleron tapped Cleon on the shoulder. "Hey, there's this water stunts show tonight. You want to go, man?"

"Uh, I don't know. Me and Neal--"

"Neal and I," Faleron said with an intelligent chuckle.

"Yeah, we were going to check out the resort's club. It's around here some where. You know, meet some girls," he nodded, trying to think of something to say. He shrugged. "You can come with, if you want, Fal."

The shorter man declined. "No thanks. Kel, do you want to go?"

"Um, sure. Is this line moving at _all_?" she said, peering around the people in front of them in line.

At the front of the line, a lady with a headset and a uniform tropical yellow shirt and flowers in her mousy brown hair said, "Next."

Joren moved forward. "Yes, reservation for Joren Stone."

"Spelling please."

He irritably spelled it out for her. 

She typed it into her computer. There were a few beeps and she met his eyes and politely informed him. "The reservation is for Joren Stone and Keladry Mindelan, correct? Is Ms. Mindelan here?"

He leaned over the divider and gaped at the screen. "No, no. It's a mistake. I don't share a room with her."

The lady sighed and brought up a couple of more windows. "The month long stays are courtesy of the Seastone family. Unfortunately, this is a busy time of the year for us. And though we would like to grant your wish, we need the rooms for other guests. Therefore, of your party, you are rooming with Ms. Mindelan and, Mr. Queenscove is rooming with Mr. Kennan." She tilted her head and smiled in that fake cheeriness that the resort's employees all had to possess. "Does that answer your answer your question, sir?"

Joren tried to stifle his annoyance. "What about Mr. Faleron King? Does he have a single?"

She continued to smile, never wavering once. "Mr. King is not within the party given free rooms courtesy of the Seastone family. Therefore, I cannot switch you with him nor give you any information regarding his rooming."

He shook his head. "You don't seem to understand." He clenched his fist. "I can't room with--"

"That's room 316. Here are your keys, and the elevators are to your right and the stairs to your left. Thank you for choosing Seastone Beach Resort and have a nice day." With that, she reached forward, scanned his wrist, handed him his key cards, and called, "Next!"

He glared daggers at the desk attendant, picked up his bags, and moved toward the back of the line to find his roommate. Muttering less than appropriate words, he found the four others and waited for them to turn and notice his presence.

"Oh, Stone, so, where's your room?" Cleon asked.

"Third floor," he answered rigidly. "And by the way, the reservations have us pairing up except for thief-boy because his is being paid for by Ms. Sarassri." He turned to Keladry then. "Room 316 Mindelan. Here's the other key card." He grumpily handed it to her.

She blinked. "No. Don't tell me--"

"Yeah. And you'd just better keep that attitude in check for this month," he warned her.

"My attitude? _My_ attitude?" she gasped. "Look who's talk-- Hey! Come back here!" She shouted after him, but the blonde still walked away towards the elevators.

Cleon sighed and patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kel. I'd switch with you and all, but… you know. Have fun!"

"Thanks a lot," she sardonically replied. 

"Why don't you go ahead and follow him up to the room? Put down your stuff and come join us for a little exploration of this huge place."

She dreaded the thought of being alone in a room with her partner. "No. No, I think I'll wait for you guys to get your room numbers. It's okay. Really." _It could be worse. This vacation is only a month. The way Wyldon was fed up with me, I'm surprised he didn't give me until the late autumn._

~~

She ended up putting her stuff in Faleron's room until they got back from exploring the resort. They four friends had found the game room, the bar, the sauna, indoor swimming pool with skylights, and the makeshift auditorium for visiting acts. That week, there was an illusionist and his dozens of doves. One had landed on Cleon's head and would not come off until Faleron managed to get it off and bring it back to the man with the purple cape.

There were various wooden decks and boardwalks that branched out from the main buildings. Some were for parasailing. Others were for water skiing, scuba diving, and plenty other sorts of activities. There was actually a cave that guests of the resort could enter with a certified guide. Faleron had been interested in that, but the other dragged him off to an early dinner. 

After eating in the restaurant in the third complex, Cleon and Neal left to pursue other interests. This left Keladry and Faleron to stroll around the boardwalk, waiting for the time the fireworks and water stunts show was to happen. 

"Something bothering you?" Keladry asked, concerned.

"Oh, of course not," Faleron replied, smiling as he did so. "I should ask the same of you, Officer."

She gave him a hard look. "You know something's always bothering me. And don't say 'Officer' anymore."

"Sorry. But why do you ask? I'm perfectly fine." 

They stopped and sat down on a wooden bench overlooking the dock where black and blue speedboats were tied up. The sun was just setting on the horizon. This created blurs of red, orange and purple in the sky, followed by the large expanse of dark blue. The clouds absorbed yellow off the sun itself. 

Keladry shrugged. "Ever since I first met you, I've known you to be crafty and charismatic. Something seems down."

"Charismatic, charismatic. Everyone keeps using that word to describe me. I don't believe they know the definition of charismatic," he huffed. 

"So what's your definition of it?" 

"The dictionary says: having a natural ability to lead. No, I do not lead. You could lead. Yeah, I see that happening. Maybe Neal and Cleon-- they have attitudes that lead girls to them. But not me… I'm just a wit and a half."

She laughed. "When people say you have charisma, you show it through your wit. I don't believe you haven't been able to persuade anyone to your side during a conversation. You had a confidence in your words that empowered you." She leaned on his shoulder, causing him to lean that way too. When he started to smile, she went on. "I remember how difficult it was dealing with you when we first arrested you. Intelligent, witty, and fast thinking? Yes, Fal, that _is_ you."

He cupped his own chin and leaned his elbow on his knee. "You said I _had_ confidence."

She took a deep breath. "Okay, okay… what's sapping your stupid confidence?"

"You wouldn't understand."

She punched him in the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You're looking at the girl with the least self-esteem from here to Carthak. Don't tell me I wouldn't understand," she warned. Kel relented. "But I understand that you don't want to talk about it. It's like Cleon told me once. You're just trying to keep your distance… your space. And I can respect that."

Faleron snorted. "He said that?"

She nodded. "Yup. So, are you at least going to try and have some fun?"

"Okay. Fine. Jeez, you sound like Lalasa."

"I know, I know. She's rubbing off on me."

He suddenly stood up and pointed. "Hey, they're starting the show! Let's get down there!"

~~

The club on the western side of Seastone R. was called the Sand Piper. Multicolored lights roamed across the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. A live band cranked out the music while a variety of party-goers danced to their heart's content, each marching to their own drum. 

At one particular table in the back, decked with empty glasses and strewn with fake flowers, a girl leaned over Cleon to flirt with Neal.

"So, here's my room number…" the girl in the green halter top purred as she wrote it with pen on Neal's palm. He whispered something into her ear. She giggled and blew him a kiss as she strutted away.

Cleon took a sip of his drink. "How do you do it?"

"It's just natural," Neal admitted. "Got to have that relaxed, smooth feel to it, you know?" He leaned back in his chair and watched the dance floor. "And besides, I can't resist a girl who struts." 

"Yeah, I noticed," the sharpshooter commented. He had only gotten one number from a girl that night, while Neal had received several. The number was equal to the times that Neal was rejected. Cleon found a lot of humor in this. 

After half an hour of talking, joking, and flirting with women, Cleon put down his glass and pushed it away. He stood up and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. Neal frowned and stood up, also taking out his wallet to pay his share of the bill. 

"So, wait, what are we doing now?"

Cleon shrugged. "I'm kind of getting tired. I want you to stay here though. Dance a few. You don't have to leave because I feel like it."

The older one seemed caught between being a loyal friend and leaving with Cleon, or actually walking over to the girl in the green halter top again to see if he could further his ventures. His kind heart won out and he refused. "No, I'll go, too. This place is way over my head anyway."

Cleon laughed and put down a couple of credits on the table. He put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Man, stay. All right? Just stay." He leaned forward and whispered, "Besides, I need you to find out if she has a sister."

"Oh," he nodded. "I _see_." They both started laughing. "Okay, okay. You got it. Meet you back at the room. You have a key?"

"Yeah, totally taken care. See you, Dude."

"Yeah, later!" Neal waved and put his wallet back in his pants. As soon as he could see the redhead walk through the exit, he headed for the dance floor, humming a wicked tune.

~~

On the way to the room, Cleon started whistling and day dreaming random things. He was picturing himself scuba diving and finding some cool pearl. And then he was thinking about this good lobster that he heard the Seastone R. served in its restaurant. It looked so succulent and savory in his dreams. He was almost licking his lips in anticipation. 

"Whoa!" he cried out as he bumped into a girl with short brown hair and dimples. He gasped. "I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it." She gave him a once over. Cleon guessed she approved, because she continued speaking to him. "I'm Maura Dunlath. I'm vacationing from Corinth. My uncle lives in Carthak, running this area's chain of Dunlath Vehicles. Came down here to meet with a client--" She stopped and blushed. "I'm sorry. I tend to run on about things when I'm nervous. I… I don't even know your name!"

He grinned. "It's cool. I'm Cleon Kennan. It's great to meet you."

She held her hands behind her back and looked hopefully up at him. "So, Cleon, do you want to come party with some friends of mine at our suite? It's going to be really awesome…"

Cleon looked at his watch. For a brief moment after leaving the Sand Piper, he wanted to join Faleron and Keladry at the water stunts show. He shook the thought from his mind and nodded. "Sure. I'll go. I can't possibly deny a girl like you, could I, Kalasin?"

She frowned. "My name's Maura."

His eyes widened. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry. You, uh, remind me of my friend," he lied. "Please forgive me!"

"It's okay, really. Let's go." She said hurriedly and pulled him along down the walk toward the far side of the resort.

~~

That night, Keladry came in dragging her luggage that she'd left in Faleron's room. She kicked herself mentally when she checked the time and found it to be a little after midnight. She had no idea that the fireworks would last that long. And that there was going to be an impromptu conga line. It had seemed very odd to her to have so much fun, but it seemed even odder for Faleron to be acting like Cleon. Which was exactly what happened when the ex-thief took her advice to heart and had some fun instead of being sad.

There was a click in the darkness. It was a familiar noise. She froze where she was until the lights came on.

"Oh. It's just you," Joren said as he stood near the door to the bathroom. He was holding a fresh bandage in his left hand while holding the gun called Quicksilver in the other.

Keladry dropped her luggage unceremoniously onto the floor. "And how the hell did you sneak that through the metal detector?"

"Don't ask." He put down the gun on his bed and resumed changing bandages. She noticed how a little blood had seeped through it. Kel felt a sliver of sympathy for the pain he must be feeling. She had not come across any painkillers listed under medications when she was asked to cosign the release form from the hospital. Why would he not accept any? Did he feel they would dull his senses or something?

She sat down in a chair and started slipping off her shoes. Her limbs were tired and sore from the day's activities. "So, did you just get in?"

He paused and looked at her. "Is it any of your business?"

Keladry held her head in her hands. "Okay, okay. We're going to be stuck like this for a month. Let's pretend this morning never happened, hmm?"

"Fine. I don't care."

She glanced at the blood on his bandages. "I thought you wouldn't be… uh, bleeding still."

He shrugged. "Ripped a stitch this morning when we were fighting."

Guilt overwhelmed her. "Oh, man, I'm… sorry. Shouldn't you go to the clinic?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't hurt that much."

"So, what did you do today? I mean, I know you're anti-fun and all," she shrugged casually. 

He finished wrapping the new bandage around his middle. She was successful at not looking at him while he put a white T-shirt on. "I was supposed to meet up with my dealer's niece. She's somewhere in this place. But the guy warned me she tends to forget her duties, and I've been wandering ever since. Screw it, though. I'm going into town tomorrow and looking around the dealership. There, does that answer Ms. Nosy's question?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Are you done with the bathroom? I'll take a shower and jump straight into bed."

"Whatever." He pulled off the covers to his bed and sat down, checking how tight the bandage was. "Just don't disturb me, Mindelan."

"Of course," she muttered while grabbing a handful of clothing. 

That night, she dreamt of nothing. It was peaceful sleep.

~~

It was around six in the morning when Keladry woke up. The sun shined into her eyes since she was nearest the window. She groaned softly and propped herself up on her elbows, eyeing the clock on her nightstand. She had woken up early every day of her adult life. Of course she would expect herself to wake up early _now_. This fact was very annoying. 

Keladry looked to the other bed, where her partner slept. She couldn't believe he slept so comfortably. Well, not in the context she really meant. He looked a little too comfortable lying on his good side, with both pillows on the floor and the sheets twisted around his legs. Even she didn't sleep like that.

_Who would've guessed a guy with so many strict rules and ideas to his lifestyle slept like any other average Joe?_

His faced appeared content and satisfied. She could never see that while he was awake. He _must_ have been comfortable sleeping there like that. 

_Might as well go for a jog or something,_ she thought. She made sure to be very quiet while going into the bathroom and dressing. He'd made it clear that he didn't want to be disturbed. And for once, she honestly wanted to do as he wished. He really did look happy in his sleep. She was likely never to see that during his waking hours, for as long as they were assigned partners. 

When she came out, he was already sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked.

"I'm a light sleeper when other people are around," he replied, standing up and moving past her into the bathroom. This inadvertently allowed his bare arm to brush against her bare arm. He was warm.

_He's peaceful in his sleep. For once, he's warm. I suppose there are sides to him that I didn't see before._ She walked toward the door. _And to think… I have the whole month to see if he's really as bad as I think he is._

So, she swiped the key card through the scanner and closed the door after her. And had a wonderful morning.

~~

Author's note: I'M BBBAAAACCCKKK! Yes, here I am, having had a wonderful rest from writing. I spent a lot of time planning and brainstorming. I left last season with a small note saying I was going to work on other series during my vacation from this series. And well, I couldn't get ICBW out of my head. Okay, so some of my other readers from my other series will be a little disappointed. I'll get to it someday before summer ends. (If I'm lucky.)

So, here we are-- episode 1 of the new season. Some things never change. (Attitudes of characters, habits of characters. Why would they?) And some things are going to change. (Attitudes of characters, habits of characters. Whoa. That seems familiar.) And I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Some things _have_ changed, though. For instance, we are no longer PG-13, but a big fat R. Why? Well, I figured I'd get ahead of myself and anticipate future episodes, whose rating would be approximately R. Hope this doesn't influence any of you who have stuck by my side ever since the beginning. So, thank you again for reading and… IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK!

**EDITED April 8, 2002: For Tallina, who cannot get to R fics, I change this to PG-13, but am not altering the content. If I get in trouble Tallina, send me your e-mail. I can send you the episodes. And for your innocent reading eyes, just fast forward through the R parts.**

-Sulia Serafine

P.S. It June 21, 2001. My BIRTHDAY! I thought this would be great as my first time submitting a fic since I've gone on vacation.!

It Could Be Worse 

Copyright © 2001, by Sulia Serafine

P.S. I'm still working out the kinks to my website, so expect to see a lot of ICBW cast pictures soon! 


	2. Best Friend

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

Episode 2: Best Friend

By Sulia Serafine

[Finished. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Yup. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

Brush, brush.

Glance.

Brush, brush, brush, brush.

Gargle. Spit.

Glare.

Keladry and Joren silently battled for bathroom space while both brushing their teeth. Joren gargled again with some water and spit once more. He moved aside to find the floss. Each glared at the other, elbowing each other on purpose to make them move over. The bathroom had turned out to be smaller than they thought-- but they hadn't been in it at the same time before either.

Normally, they wouldn't be fighting for space, but each of them had something to do early that morning. Keladry had signed up for water skiing because Lalasa was now there and wanted to ski. She had excitedly grabbed Kel and Roald by the arm and led them to the shore the day before to watch the water skiers. Joren had to go into town and haggle with his supplier over some parts that cost way too much. Then he had to work with some mechanic on it, either adding some new things or repairing old things. In a nutshell, the two unlikely roommates were both pressed for time.

Keladry spit and rinsed her mouth. She tried to move past Joren to reach her towel, but he blocked the whole way. She cleared her throat. "Ahem?"

He cast her a nasty look before pressing up against the counter so she could slip by. As she went, she grabbed the tooth floss dispenser and took some for herself. They shared three more minutes of time in the small, enclosed space before exiting and parting ways.

Being roommates had not been as bad as Keladry thought it would be. They frequently avoided being in the room at the same time. This excluded sleeping hours. Neither had any real complaints over whose stuff was in which drawer and where it was scattered across the counter of the bathroom. Kel was naturally organized, and Joren hadn't many possessions to leave around.

At first, she thought she wouldn't be able to stop conspicuously avoiding looking at him when he was changing shirts-- which he did out in the open, but with pants, he went into the bathroom. Then it got easier to just stare down at her feet or fiddle with her bags. She did everything personal such as changing clothes within the shielding confines of the bathroom, or the walk-in closet they shared. It was like constantly being under scrutinizing surveillance, hearing scoffs over her shoulder every few minutes.

She often woke him up by accident. He was right. He _really was _a light sleeper around other people. So, they started getting into the habit of telling each other when they'd expect to be in at night, and when they wanted to leave in the morning. It was one of the few times they actually talked. Conversation was very limited. Keladry had given up on small talk with him. It was absolutely impossible without sparking an argument over the other's chosen attitude and personality.

"I'll be back around 4:00, but I won't be in the room until around 8," Joren informed her in a monotone voice as he yanked a sleeveless black T-shirt over his head. She caught a glimpse of his bandages. There were still a few small red dots of blood staining them.

__

He never did go to the clinic for that ripped stitch. "Okay. Um, I'll be back in tonight around the same time. If I'm late, I'll call," she said in the same tone. He nodded, picked up a small duffel bag with some things that he needed, and went out the door. She gazed after him until the door shut, then went back to putting on her shoes.

But only two minutes after Joren had left, there was a buzz from the door intercom. 

"Who is it?" Keladry called. She finished tying her shoelaces and stood up to answer the door.

"It's Lalasa. I got a present for you!"

She half smiled as the door opened. Keladry welcomed her older friend inside. The other girl had on a blue baby tee on that was ripped at the bottom to allow a midriff, and a matching skirt wrap. It was a crime the only thing that didn't match was the sandals. She held up a bag with the resort's store logo on it. 

"Um… what is that?" She eyed the bag with distrust. She had some intuition that she wasn't going to like it.

Lalasa handed it to Kel. "I'm _so_ not impressed with that one piece and girl's surfer shorts you wore yesterday. I mean, it's like you're afraid to expose some skin." She squeezed Kel's arm and kindly told her in a lowered voice. "I don't think girls wear baggy shirts into the water anymore, Kel."

Keladry glared at her. "Some do as far as I'm concerned. And sorry, 'Lasa, but I'm not into two pieces like you are. Really, it doesn't matter as long as we're having fun, right?"

She snorted. "Oh please! The appearance is the whole deal! For crying out loud, I'm never going to get you a man out here if you keep dressing like that." She nudged Kel. "So, open the bag…"

Hesitantly, Kel did what she was told. She didn't like Lalasa's idea of playing matchmaker, but seeing her this peppy pleased Keladry. She bit her lip while peering inside. When she caught sight of the proffered swimsuit, her eyes widened and she shut the bag again. Lalasa burst into laughter.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. You look like there's a severed head in the bag," she guffawed. "Ooh, and I bet there are blood and guts everywhere. A doggy bag of a zombie lunch-- that's appealing, don't you think?"

"'Lasa…"

"I made sure there was no chance of cleavage because I _know_ you'd burn it then."

"Thanks," she dryly replied. "But Lalasa, I am _not _wearing this. I mean, it's too… too…"

"Whatever! You're wearing it. Now come on. Roald is waiting for us downstairs," Lalasa insisted as she gently pushed her younger friend towards the bathroom. "I'm not budging an inch from this room until you put it on and get ready to stun the world with your new look."

Keladry opened the bag again and stared. "New look? What was wrong with my old look?"

Lalasa shut the door before there could be any more protesting. She sat down on one of the beds and started to inspect her nails, waiting for the other girl to finish putting on her new swimsuit. An hour and a half had been spent the night before in the resort's gift shop, browsing through things she might have her only female friend to wear. Back in Carthak, she'd never shopped for other people except maybe for her father when he asked her to. 

And then they all came along and turned her world upside down. Searching for Thom Trebond-- her Uncle Thom-- and looking to arrest her own father, it was like they'd put her life into a blender and hit frappe. Then she had to get on her father's bad side, and endure Vinson's immature antics. 

But of course, her father and Vinson were dead now. 

__

I have Roald. I have him.

Overcome with a surge of impatience she stood up and knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you done yet?"

"I am not coming out! You can't make me, Lalasa, I'm stronger than you!"

The older woman bit back a laugh. "I don't doubt that you're stronger than me. But if it makes you feel better, you can wear your tomboy shorts."

This time she got no answer. 

"Hey, take or leave it, girl. You have to come out of there sometime. If you choose to wait until nightfall, then Stone might see and could you imagine the embarrassment _then_--" she cried out as the door suddenly opened. Kel grouchily stepped out. She went to her drawers and put on the shorts she'd worn the day before. Lalasa rested her hands on Kel's shoulders. "Hey, it's a cute look."

"I don't want a cute look. I want _my_ look."

"What… jeans, sneakers, and a bulky vest?"

"Yes."

Lalasa grabbed Keladry by the wrist, picked up the other's beach bag, and pulled her through the door. Keladry barely had time to lock it behind her before she found herself tugged down the hall. It was then that the older one noticed that Kel's face was turning red.

She stopped and let go of her arm. "It does show off those abdominal muscles you strive to have. Isn't that a triumph, hmm? And no cleavage, just as I promised."

"'Lasa, I--" Kel froze and stared hard over her friend's shoulder.

"What is it?" Lalasa turned around. "Oh. Stone."

He stood in the middle of the hall, but two feet away from them. He glanced from one to the other. Kel stared down at her feet, wishing she could crawl into a hole and die. Waves of relief washed over her when he heard his departing footsteps from the direction they had just come from.

Lalasa boldly called out to the icy blonde. "You do realize you still owe me another dirty martini, Stone!"

"What are you doing?!" Kel hissed. Thankfully, he ignored them and entered the room again.

"Oh, relax. I was just having some fun. Let's go. Roald's paged me twice since we've been up here." She tapped her wrist where the thin wristwatch looking device was. Civilian pagers/ identification badges were much smaller than those of the DJPF were. Kel wished she had one.

"Hey, at least you don't have to anticipate that embarrassing moment again," Lalasa consoled.

"Do I have the choice of jumping off a cliff or drowning?"

"Neither. Now come on!"

Downstairs, Roald had been waiting on a concrete bench when Neal approached him. The taller man sat down and also set down his beach bag. Both men were clad in swimming trunks. Other guests of the hotel and employees walked past them, filling the area with noise. The two seated guys had to speak up to hear each other.

"So what are your plans for the day?" Roald asked over the roar of the crowd.

"Oh, Cleon and I are gonna play volleyball with these girls we met at the Sand Piper last night!" he answered enthusiastically. He elbowed his companion playfully. "So what do you think of Seastone so far?"

The vice president's son, for once, was not serious-faced and broke out into a wide grin. "I can't believe you guys have been here for two weeks already. I can't imagine staying here for three days without getting tired from all the stuff we've done! And I just practically arrived!"

Neal patted him on the back and stood up. "Well, _I_ can't imagine leaving. It's going to be so tough going back to work after this. I'm pretty sure Wyldon would feel the same way. I called back the other night and heard from one of my old classmates that Wyldon's been having himself a holiday in his office. He actually went around HQ in some golfer's outfit, can you believe that?"

They had themselves a good laugh, each one tearing up of the idea of the DJPF Commissioner strolling around the HQ elevated walkways with a putter in one hand and a pair of golfing gloves in the other. For a few more minutes, they talked. The loud noise of the morning crowd faded as people got directions to where they wanted to go and cleared out of the main complex. An entertainer went around, juggling coconuts and singing. 

"Hello, boys," Lalasa crooned as she hugged Roald from behind and planted a kiss on his cheek. He returned the show of affection and moved over so she could sit. The deeply tanned, dark haired girl also gave Neal a friendly hug.

"Where's Kel? I thought you said she was coming with us," Roald said.

"What are you talking about? She's right h--" Lalasa stopped mid-sentence and sighed. "Excuse me for a moment." She went behind the arrangement of tropical plants. Neal and Roald could hear some sort of tussle behind the greenery, but they didn't want to say anything.

"Come on! It's not… so… BAD! AH!" Lalasa yelped as she stumbled backward, bringing her shy friend with her. Roald darted forward to catch her.

"Whoa! Kel!" Neal exclaimed. He moved to stand by Roald, and whispered something into his ear. At once, both men started making wolf whistles to the blushing female officer. They clapped and grinned. 

Lalasa took Kel by the hand again and led her forward. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Neal nodded. "Yeah, Tough Stuff. Nice abs. You would do a good deed to make all these skinny girls feel jealous. I mean, thin and slender girls are nice, but muscle is better. Isn't that right, Roald?"

Roald blinked. "Uh, yeah, I guess." He quickly added, "Except for you, Lalasa. You're fine the way you are."

She folded her arms. "I've trained you well in the ways of flattery."

"I'd be surprised if she hadn't," Kel inserted. "Ouch! 'Lasa, I was kidding!"

~~

Cleon quickly gulped down the orange juice, tossed the plastic cup in a bin in the hall, and started jogging. He slowed down when he could feel the liquids swishing around in his belly. _Oh, that was smart._

"Hey, Kennan! Wait up!" Faleron called as he ran to catch up.

The redhead smiled. "Hey, man. I haven't seen you around these last couple of days."

He nodded. "Yeah. That's why I was wondering if you wanted to go hang out with some people that I met last night playing poker. No money involved. Just plastic chips and good intentions."

The taller laughed. "I bet you won, though. Right?"

"Of course. So, do you want to come?"

"Oh." He scratched the back of his head nervously. "I already made plans to hang out with these really fine girls Neal and I met last night." He shrugged his shoulders. "Aww, you know. That kind of stuff. I'm really sorry we can't hang and all, but I'll make it up to you."

Faleron nodded. "It's okay. Go ahead. We'll hang some other time."

Cleon nodded. "Cool, man. You've been so cool about this. Catch ya later!"

He ran down the hall, no longer bothered by the beverage he'd drunk a few moments before. Faleron remained standing where he was, watching his supposed best friend desert him once again for something more appealing. Not once during the duration of this vacation had Faleron been able to hang out with Cleon or even Neal for that matter. They were always busy flirting with girls. 

Even the few times the tall redhead had promised to meet Faleron somewhere to do stuff, he'd forgotten and went to do something else. It was horrible. The only person Fal could count on for company was Kel, but now that Lalasa and Roald were here, even she seemed too occupied to spare some time for him. It wasn't the same, even when he was with her. She was Kel. Not one of Lalasa's Stooges.

Roald had stayed with him the night before. Lalasa had gone to go find something for Keladry to wear instead of the baggy shirt and surfer shorts. That left the boyfriend to find another means of entertaining himself. It just so happened that he ran into Faleron at the poker tables. 

The former thief had been so overcome with loneliness that he was just throwing out all his charms and tricks to win every single game he played. He was relentless, not even giving the others a chance like he used to when he played cards with strangers. It was just shuffle, deal, bluff, bet, and win. It was not always in that order, but it seemed to go by so fast. Roald watched Faleron for a few minutes, surprised at the usually calm and placid young man's new impatient and mocking attitude.

__

"What are you doing?" Roald asked as soon as he was capable of bringing Faleron away from the tables. A large amount of people glared at the short, dark haired man as he was pulled away. That time they had not been using plastic chips, but actual money. And now they had empty pockets.

"I was winning. What did it look like?"

The two slowly walked to the main deck, looking over the main complex below and some of the boardwalks. They sat down and leaned on the guardrails. Roald cleared his throat. "You don't usually play like that. You have more finesse and style when you play poker. All of us know that."

"Your point?"

"Is something wrong?"

Faleron snorted derisively. "Of course not. You're imagining things."

Roald didn't push any further. He simply sat and waited for his companion to speak again. And he did.

"You're too serious, Roald."

He nodded. "I know. And you're always charming and fast-talking your way out of everything. Faleron."

"No, I don't."

"Yes you do. What the hell are you talking about?" Roald frowned, starting to get a little more hostile in his voice. "I'm always the serious one who rarely jokes around, and spends all his time with his girlfriend. You're the one who always likes to make the best of an opportunity and have some fun while you're at it. So what's with you_?"_

Faleron looked at him and shrugged. "I don't know. Just feeling really left out." 

After that, he forced a smile for his companion, got up, and strode away. They hadn't talked since.

~~

Kel stretched her arms over her head. Things had been absolutely fantastic that day. She done so many activities with Lalasa and Roald until finally Numair came by and asked the couple for some help. Kel had almost forgotten that the Councilman had decided to come over the Seastone Resort as well. 

After a while, the swimsuit Lalasa had given her was not as bad as it first started out to be. She got accustomed to it and even forgot she was wearing it when she got to the third floor and a man going into the elevator gave her a very deliberate once over.

__

I can see myself liking this vacation even more and more, she thought as she reached her door and slid the key card through the scanner. The light blinked green and she entered. It was almost six o'clock, and Lalasa had told her to hurry up and change so they could have dinner together with Roald and Numair. 

Joren turned his head when he sensed the door opening. "You're early," he said and looked at his pager for the time. "You said you'd be back around 8."

She pouted. "Well, you said the same thing, so why are _you_ here early?"

"After two weeks, the mechanic finally sees it my way, Ms. Nosy."

"Humph," Keladry folded her arms and marched past him into the bathroom. A few seconds later, she marched back out, picked up some clothes from her drawer, and went back into the bathroom. Her roommate with held another biased comment, thinking he'd already won that innocuous argument.

When she came back out, she said, "I'll be back in late. Sorry if I wake you up."

"You _always_ wake me up," he muttered. 

As she stood in front of the open doorway, she stopped to think. "Hey… why did you train yourself to wake up at the slightest little thing?"

He sat down on his bed and started removing his jacket. "I don't like people getting the element of surprise against me. And that is another one of the top ten reasons I do _not_ like roommates."

"Well, by Glory, you weren't my first choice either," she retorted and left.

~~

Cleon yawned. Then he fell back flat onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The only bad thing about the Resort was that the channels on the holo screen, for lack of a better word, sucked. While waiting for his companion to get ready every night, he had to either choose between weather reports or the plaster dots on the wall. Or maybe crossword puzzles book that he'd found under the bed. Neal was busy posing in front of the mirror, practicing his smile for whatever girl he happened to meet tonight. 

__

He does this every night. Fal wasn't even this bad.

Cleon smirked when he elaborated on the thought. _Fal doesn't even think about women everyday. Well, not that Neal_ does _but when given an opportunity for a whole month, I can see how his attitude would change. _He propped himself up on his elbows and sighed conspicuously. "Hey! Man, are you done yet? Let's go already!"

Neal ducked his head out of the bathroom. "Why don't you go ahead? I'm trying to figure out which cologne that girl from last night might prefer. She said something about it last night, but I can't remember just what it was she said." He hesitated. "Do you remember?"

"No. But I'll go ahead downstairs. See ya," he called and leapt up from the bed, happy to escape boredom. Before Neal could speak again, he heard the door slide shut.

Out in the hall, Cleon hummed as he walked down the hall. He stopped to admire some pointless decorative painting set on the wall. It was of the crashing waves against the shore, with a typical rosy sunset in the background. He turned his head when he heard footsteps coming from down the hall.

It was Faleron, fiddling with a brown jacket in his hands that had its zipper stuck. He was so focused on the task he didn't even hear the tall redhead approach until a hand clapped down on his left shoulder.

"Ah!" he cried out, surprised.

"Hey, man, it's just me," Cleon smiled jovially. "Here, let me help ya." He took the jacket from him and started working on the problem. Faleron first held out his hand to take the jacket back, but let it go. They quietly walked down the hall toward the cluster of elevators.

When the reached the end of the hall and the zipper was still stuck, Cleon handed the jacket back to Faleron. They stood waiting until the doors to an elevator opened and they went inside. Faleron pressed the button for the ground floor and leaned back on the rail.

"So, um, what are your plans for tonight, man?" Cleon asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

The other shrugged. "There's this night tour of the cave that starts after the scheduled dinner in the restaurant. Tour guide said to meet him out in the middle of the complex that overlooks all the boardwalks."

The elevator came to a stop and they both stepped out. Cleon nodded. He was trying to act interested, but he really didn't know much about caves except the one at the resort had some supposed ghosts in it. "That's cool."

Faleron rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he should even bother doing what he was about to do, but he always did it anyway. "Do you want to come?"

"Actually, yeah. That sounds pretty, um, neat. I guess. It starts right after dinner you say?"

"Yeah." _Not that I expect you to actually keep your word and show up._

Cleon caught sight of Maura Dunlath from afar. They'd been seeing each other regularly ever since that first meeting. He awkwardly looked back and forth between her and his companion. "Yeah, I'll see you later. I have some people waiting for me." He coughed. "But I _will_ be there after dinner. Scouts' honor."

"You were never a scout," the other replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, you get the idea. Later!" He ran off.

Faleron started walking in the other direction. He slung the jacket over one shoulder. 

He and the clown named Cleon had been friends for a while. During the Immortals crisis, things happened that told him that Cleon was a trustworthy and loyal friend. But that crisis was over. The times when Faleron was convicted and set to be executed in Scanra… the frantic search for Roger in President Jonathan Conté's mansion… times like those were not likely to happen again. Everyone lived normal lives now. Day after day, the friendship that was formed between the inseparable 'Three Stooges', as Lalasa had dubbed them, was growing weaker and weaker. Roald had left the triad long ago to stand by his girlfriend. Cleon had deserted for people who had more things in common with him, such as a wild personality. 

Faleron was still standing there, wondering what had happened to the three of them-- or more in particular, him and his best friend. Roald was great and all, but somehow the former thief always knew that he'd never again be a close buddy after Lalasa started to hang around.

For a moment, he wondered if he should just give up and start looking for a girlfriend of his own. But the problem was, every time he was able to attract a girl of his desire, he had also been using his charms. He didn't want to have to use his charm all the time. He wanted to act how he usually did. Snappy remarks that made him look smart, and-- well, he guessed he should just call himself a smartass. 

__

Not many girls are attracted to an ex-thief and one time murderer, let alone a smartass.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

~~

"How is everyone, you ask?" Numair put down his fork. "Oh, well, Thom's been going crazy ever since Jump accidentally used some blueprints for um… indoors doggy purposes. The tough little guy was paper trained after all."

"Which tough little guy, Uncle Thom or Jump?" Lalasa asked.

"Good one," Numair grinned. "But both he and Advisor Alanna are the same height, so you shouldn't say that. You just might get a nasty surprise from them."

She laughed. "Oh, but I have no intention of making either an enemy. I'm working for Ms. Sarassri now, but who's to stop me from climbing up the ladder?"

"Me! Who says I won't retire and take the Advisor's place when we're all older?" Kel interjected. This won her a light-hearted shove from Lalasa and a rueful shake of the head from Roald. They had been talking like this for about an hour now. All of them had noticed how much more friendly and outgoing their favorite female DJPF officer had been acting. The vacation had a good effect on her after all.

Before they'd arrived days previous, Keladry had been doing a lot of outgoing things with complete strangers, such as the group hikes, and scuba diving. Sure, Lalasa had intensified this new sense of emotional freedom with that day's water skiing and silly ideas. But, even without her closest friends, Kel seemed to be getting the hang of it. Fun, that is.

"Has anyone else besides me noticed that this place is on constant holiday?" Numair asked.

Roald nodded. "It's odd, but very nice. Takes off a lot of the tension we arrived here with."

"Hmm. Daine should have come. If anyone needs to get stress and tension out of her system, it's that stubborn woman." He sipped from his drink. It was almost empty, so he waved to a waitress a few feet away who held a pitcher.

Later, when Numair had gone to the restroom, the rest of them started talking about less than noteworthy topics. Lalasa dabbed her chin with a napkin. She pushed away her plate, having finally finished. She liked savoring her meal, and therefore was always the last to finish. The spaces in front of Keladry and Roald were already cleared. They ate quickly and preferred no dessert. 

"Why do you think we always see Councilman Salmalin and Councilwoman Sarrasri together? It's not like their divisions are related. I mean, you know," she winked. 

Roald coughed, nearly choking on the Coca-Cola he was drinking. He turned beet-red. "Lalasa, that really is none of our business."

"Oh, stop being so gentlemanly and tactful all the time. People gossip around the office building about those two, " Lalasa said nonchalantly. She sipped some of her ice water and set the glass back down. When she realized both her table companions were staring at her with shock, she yielded. "Okay, okay. It's none of my business. I'll butt out. Sorry."

Keladry shook her head. "It's not that. It's just… I don't think they'd be involved. I mean, they both know what kind of effect that would have on politics."

"That's exactly what I was going to say," Roald agreed. "I've been around politics my whole life, remember, Lalasa? Last time two very important people turned out to be having a fling behind the media's back, there was a whole explosion of bad publicity everywhere. Tabloids fabricate things on the spot. It's already assumed to be that way." He lethargically traced designs on the soft white tablecloth. "Or at least that's what my dad said."

"Your dad also said there's a conspiracy in the coffee market when I talked to him last time on your cell phone," Lalasa sighed.

~~

A little over a dozen men and women were assembled in the dimly lit complex overlooking the boardwalks. The guide was wearing high water trousers and beaten up tennis shoes. He said something about having to walk through some water, but it didn't apply to them. It was chilly at night, a stark contrast to the scorching day. The wind blew more liberally, causing people to wear sweaters or extra shirts if they had no cold weather clothing.

Faleron had finally given up on the zipper and pulled the jacket over his head like he would a shirt. At least it would be warm. He protectively held his beaten up old black New Yorker hat to his head (he had never known of a place named New York, so he figured the company had made up the name). There was a good chance a gust of wind might rip it from his head. He was determined not to lose it. This was his second hat. Cleon had gotten it for him to replace--

"Forget about it," he mumbled. While he'd been thinking to himself, the group had formed a less-than-straight line in pairs down the wooden stairs that went down to the shore. He shivered when the cool breeze tickled an exposed part of his neck. He went to the back of the line, no partner to be had.

"This way! Please keep up. Hold onto the handrail. Thank you!" The guide projected his voice rather than yelled. Experience probably showed him how his voice would get hoarse very quickly if he yelled all the time.

Faleron fell into step behind the rest. He did as instructed and gripped the handrail through the material of his long jacket sleeve. He had no gloves, and his hands were freezing. Also, long ago, he had slid his hands down an old wooden rail while going down a flight of stairs. He had gotten a painful splinter that caused him two hours trouble under the sewing needle of his mother, who tried to gently remove it. 

This would father a lifelong abhorrence of wooden rails and needles in general.

He heard panting and heavy footsteps behind him. He wanted to ignore it at first, but when the group came to a stop, he was obliged to turn and stare as everyone else was. His eyebrows arched in mild surprise.

"Uh, sorry I'm late!" Cleon nervously called to the front. The guide rolled his eyes in a 'whatever' way. He whistled for the group to continue down the stairs. The late redhead wiped a small sheen of cold sweat off his brow. He smiled apologetically at him. Faleron glared back. 

They walked in silence for the entire trip to the cave. Cleon was still catching his breath, and Faleron did not _want_ to talk to him. The rest of the line felt amiable enough to chat with each other. They provided enough droning noise for the both of them. 

Amazingly enough, the cave was mostly turned away from the crashing waves, so there was less chance of flooding. A natural walkway with man-made rails indicated the path they would walk. A metal box was planted stationary on the outside of the cave. The guide opened the box with an old-fashioned metal key and started passing out flashlights.

"Be sure not to lose them. It gets pretty dark in there, even with the fixed lighting inside," the guide explained as he got to the end of the line and started walking back up. The line moved into the cave.

Cleon held his bright yellow flashlight up to the moon so he could see the switch. When he found it, he flicked it on. He shined it in his companion's face. "Ah, there we go!"

"Stop that," Faleron commanded sternly. He moved ahead of him as they went into the cave.

Drops of water could be heard dripping from the ceiling and onto the puddles of water below. Every now and then, there was a lantern found stuck in the wall, providing a ghostly glow of light in a radius of two to three feet. They went in and out of vague 'rooms' in the cavern. Each one was different from the last. There were deeply carved designs in the rock from the first room, signs that the cave had been around for a very long time. In others, there were odd formations, and even odder distributions of water.

In a particularly large space, the guide allowed everyone to break up into groups as small as two. They snapped pictures and looked around with curious minds like that of explorers.

Cleon tilted his head back when he felt a drop of water on his head. He frowned when another hit his forehead. He stepped to the side and nudged Faleron with his flashlight.

"Hey, look at this. Wow, here I thought this place would be boring. Guess I was wrong, huh?" he chuckled and leaned slightly over the rail to look at miniature glowing lakes beyond the rail, all raised above the ground level they were standing on. He could barely spot the planted lights below that caused the water to radiate such a pleasant glow. When he realized Faleron was not looking, he cleared his throat. "I wish I had come down here with ya when you went the first week. This place is cool to hang out in. Why is it slightly warmer in here?"

Faleron didn't talk. He only leaned his back on the secure metal rail and looked at his watch. The guide wouldn't call for everyone to proceed for another ten minutes. Low tide lasted for a while, but there was still a certain time everyone had to be off shore during the night.

When he didn't reply, Cleon tried to lighten the mood and jokingly flashed the beam at Faleron's face. The shorter young man turned away, his face set in a serious and temperamental expression. The taller man didn't know what to do. He fiddled with his flashlight for a few seconds, then looked up and said, "Are you mad at me?"

This time, Fal did respond-- just not verbally. He turned, stared at Cleon for about fifteen seconds, then turned away again. 

"Was it because… I was late getting here?" Cleon said with uncertainty. He was truly confused about his friend's attitude. 

Faleron spun around. "No. I was just surprised you showed up at all."

"What's that supposed to mean? I said that I'd show up, and… I did," Cleon said with a wave of his hands. "I mean, here I am! What the hell…?"

"Yeah, I supposed just like last time and the time before that," Faleron grated. "You keep saying you'll show up, and you don't. For the last couple of weeks, it's gotten to the fucking point where I ask out of politeness, you say yes, and I make deliberate plans to do idle chit-chat with complete strangers the whole night because you didn't show up." He cursed under his breath. He didn't mean to let it all out like that. 

Cleon gulped. "Hey, now. It… it wasn't like _that_."

"Yeah, it was. Man, you're so busy being Neal's shadow that it's pathetic! I know. You're into flirting with girls all the time, too. And I could've handled you ditching me this whole month to hang out with your new best friend. But you didn't have to go making empty freaking promises." He shook his head. "It's just…" He searched his mind for the right words. "I don't have many close friends. You know that. I'm not very good at making friends. Allies, yes. Cronies, maybe. Well, I mean, not after Rogue Bay." He gripped his flashlight so his knuckles became white. 

"And…?"

"And let me finish!" he angrily burst. He looked around, afraid someone had overheard them. They still had a few more minutes before the group moved. "The friends I have now are all because we went through the same grueling situation, and we've grown together that way. Otherwise, people tend to get scared off by my cutting remarks. I can't help it. _That's who I am._" He sighed. "I miss the Three Stooges. Roald and you… I'm never gonna have company like that for the rest of my life. And I'm not likely to get a girlfriend anytime soon unless she's as shrewd as I am. The point is…"

"I made you feel left out," Cleon finished. "Made it worse by breaking promises. Dude, I… I didn't know."

Faleron moved ahead when he saw the guide whistling and waving his flashlight around his head. Cleon walked behind him, a little ashamed. 

"You were supposed to know. Not even you are that big a moron."

"Yeah, well I didn't. You should've spoken up, Fal."

They continued walking. Once again, they were at the end of the line. They didn't bother lifting up their flashlights anymore. The beams from the other men and women, as well as the flashes from their cameras, worked as good lights to guide their way. 

"So, are you saying it's all my fault and I've been wrongly blaming you?"

Cleon scratched the back of his head, trying to justify the guilt he felt and the accusing look Faleron was giving him. "Okay. So Neal and I have more in common than you, Roald, and I. To tell you the truth, I've been pretty bored clubbing every night. I don't see how he could keep up with all that. Anyway, that doesn't make him more important in my life than you guys. You, Roald, and me-- we're the original Three Stooges." He paused when he realized he violated a copyright. "Okay, not the original… I mean, that was Moe and--" he growled softly. "You _know_ what I mean."

"Do I?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow, meant to provoke further frustration.

The redhead reacted accordingly. His eyes softened. "You should. You're supposed to be my best friend."

"I should say the same to you, moron."

"Moron? Is that all you can come up with? You used to be great at finding stupid names to call me."

"No, that was you making fun of me." 

Cleon shrugged. They stopped in another room. A photo session began again with the huge stalagmite formations in the spotlight. He gazed up at one while talking. "I said you're my best friend, okay already? And Roald after you. Just like that."

"It's hard to tell when I'm stuck by myself, with no one to talk to but thirty-five year old former philanthropist spending her before mid-life crisis years splurging on the Home Shopping Network."

He blinked. "A what?" 

"Never mind." The other sighed. "So, that's it?"

"What do you mean, that's it?"

Faleron shrugged. "After all the hell insecurity brings, I'm just supposed to clap you on the shoulder and say, 'I forgive you. Want to get a beer?' This isn't a fucking sitcom, you know." He gave him a look like a teacher did a misled student. "That stuff doesn't happen."

Cleon threw his hands up into the air. "What do you want me to say?! I don't know what to do to make it up to you unless you tell me, smartass!"

"Ah. There's a name I missed."

"Forget it. For…get… it. This is giving me a headache! Too much stuff! Brain overloading!" Cleon cried. This time, half the persons in their tour group turned and gaped at him as if he were crazy. He nervously laughed and ducked behind Faleron. The former thief smiled.

The path started to loop around. They were exiting the cave. As they did, there were a few more available chances for photographs. Cleon squinted at a cavern wall, trying to determine if a steady flow of water washed over it, or if it was just damp. He reached forward, but his hand was slapped away.

"Hey, what was that for, Fal? I didn't do anything!"

Faleron nodded. He nodded his head toward the departing group again. "I know. Come on. I'll tell you about it."

"Okay."

"So, water drips down from everywhere, depositing bits of mineral on rock, right? This makes the rock kind of… grow. Get bigger at least. The oils from your hands stop the water from flowing over the rock the right way. No bits of mineral can be deposited on the rock. And it stops getting bigger. That's how all those hanging stalactites are made."

"Um… so _what_ happens again if I touch the rock?"

Faleron leaned over and whispered. "You'd be a rock murderer."

"Oh. Hey, wait a second! That's pretty cool!" he grinned. "People could hear me the wrong way and think I killed a rock-star. Wow…"

They were now out of the cave. The guide took back their flashlights and locked them away into the metal box again. He also flipped a switch that would turn off all the lights within the cave. The group stared walking along the shore back to the wooden steps that would lead them back up to the complex. Faleron pulled his sleeves over his hands again, warding off the cold and any potential splinters.

Cleon frowned. "Hey, isn't the guide supposed to tell the ghost story that goes with the cave?"

"That's only when there's a full moon, like there was the week we got here. We can go again to hear it at the end of the month," Faleron reassured.

"So… are we cool now? You're not mad at me anymore?"

"No. I don't think so. Besides, you need somebody to keep you from being taken advantage of with a mind like _that_," he said.

"Hey! Ice Cream Pants!"

"Ouch, Kennan. That hurt. Almost as much as if I were a vending machine, and you'd just lost your money to me." He ducked a careless punch and hurried ahead. "Wait! I take that back! I don't have to be a vending machine for you to lose money to me!"

"FAL!"

~~

Two days later:

Brush, brush.

Glance.

Brush, brush, brush, brush.

Gargle. Spit.

Glare.

"Is there a particular reason you're up early again? This sharing-sink thing is starting to get annoying," Joren said as he rinsed his toothbrush. He dropped it into a plastic cup at the edge of the sink and tried to move past her to the door. Keladry rolled her eyes and pressed herself against the counter so he could move by.

She spat and rinsed her mouth. "Lalasa wants to go fly a kite."

Joren froze where he was and leaned back into the bathroom. "Come again?"

Keladry smirked. "She saw some people flying kites down at the beach yesterday. So, Roald and I have to fly kites with her."

"And I thought _you_ were weird," he muttered. 

"Hey, leave Lalasa alone. I don't make fun of your precious bike any more these days, do I?"

He picked up his small duffel bag and searched the nightstand for his sunglasses. He called back, "That's because I bought my bike back from you and got parts for yours as well."

She shrugged. "I'm just saying--"

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it before, Mindelan. I'll be back some time this afternoon."

The door closed. Keladry looked out the bathroom. The room was empty. He'd left. She sighed. There was a little bit more than a week to go. _Feels like an eternity_.

~~

"Hi! Cleon!" 

Cleon turned around. "Maura, it's you. Want to join me for the continental breakfast?"

"Sure." She took his offered arm, and they headed over to the restaurant.

~~

Faleron distractedly sipped his coffee while watching the holo screen for the news. He paid no attention to his surroundings. After a while, he began to ignore the fake whales and dolphins hanging from the restaurant's ceiling, though strange they were. The length of the whales was about 13 feet, as were the dolphins. The proportion did not matter as long as the diners were entertained. 

It was fun for the employees to watch guests come in and cower at the sight the first time a person set foot in the Seastone Resort's restaurant. By now, Fal knew that they made bets in the kitchen how many people gasped that night. The second busboy usually won. Faleron played gin rummy with him a few times.

The employees could tell Faleron had been at Seastone for a while. The whole "under the sea" theme went straight over his head. Literally. He was more occupied with the report on the declining ground vehicle market. More people were getting steady incomes, and therefore purchasing hover vehicles. The local government stated that it would keep the ground lanes for the old fashioned cars. A number of these machines remained to be reckoned with.

He did avert his eyes from the screen when he heard a well-known laugh. 

"Cleon?"

Just entering with a girl latched to his arm, his friend walked over to the food table and picked up a plate. He handed another to his female companion. They started to pick up samples of food. First they stopped by the bacon and sausages, then moved straight to the toast and scrambled eggs.

For a split second, Faleron hoped to go over there and introduce himself. But something inside him bade him to stay and listen in on their conversation. They had moved closer to get fresh squeezed orange juice, but they lingered in that spot. He was sure they did not see him.

"Where were you last night? I saw your friend Neal at the Sand Piper, but…" Maura trailed off. She pitched a suspicious expression to him. He couldn't help but shyly react the way she was hoping he would.

"Oh, right!" he laughed nervously. He sipped a bit of orange juice to wet his dry mouth. "Sorry about that. I, um, had some catching up to do."

Maura laughed. She playfully tweaked his nose. "Eathan Iakoju, my cousin, remember him? Yes, he was on that cavern tour last night and told me you were there with this geeky-looking brainiac. Is that true?" Before he could speak, she giggled. "Because that would be so… scandalous. I mean, I heard the guy was short _and_ dressed in some bad threads. Even this freaky hat."

Faleron gripped the table edge instead of making a fist. Making a fist would probably lead to something else and he didn't act that way. But that girl really pushed it. Pushed it a little too far.

__

Cleon will defend me. He wouldn't let her trash his best friend, would he?

"Oh, uh, Fal? Um… he's this friend of my friend's, and well, she was busy so I had to hang out with him. You know, so he wouldn't be alone all the time," Cleon lied with a jittery smile. "I don't really know him that well. Yeah, you're right. He is a little weird." He added another laugh to secure his words. "But I'd do it again, because that's the kind of guy I am. I'm always there for other non-popular people. Heheh…"

She smiled and laid a hand on his cheek. "How sweet! You are _such_ a sweetheart!"

__

Yeah, well I'm going to rip that so-called sweetheart's HEAD off, Faleron mentally seethed.

"Now, now, you just _have_ to come with me after breakfast to the surf shop. Eathan and the rest of my friends will be there. You fit in with them so well. It's amazing," Maura gasped. They left the refreshment table and claimed booth on the other side of the divider. Faleron could still hear their chatter, but it didn't matter anymore. He dropped some money onto the table for the coffee and left the restaurant.

~~

"Ah! Watch out!" Keladry screamed as her green kite took a nosedive toward some innocent bystanders. The two men held metal detectors in their hands, probably combing the sands for valuable treasure. They dropped their things and fell to the ground on purpose to avoid getting hit by the berserk kite.

Lalasa tried hard not to laugh, but she couldn't help it. Soon, she was pointing and laughing in amusement. Roald kindly smiled and jogged over to retrieve Kel's kite.

"Oh, sorry," Lalasa said when she calmed down. "But hey, you're better than me. Mine won't get off the ground." She held up her bright red one for Kel's inspection. "Do you think there are some kite gods I could pray to for guidance?"

Kel shook her head ruefully. "No, but you're welcome to try my kite."

Roald came back. "I don't think any kite would help her."

"Roald!"

"Just being honest," he shrugged. She tried to slap his arm, but he caught her wrist and pulled her close for small peck on the cheek. The two flirted with each other for a few more seconds before noticing Keladry's boredom.

"Sorry. So, anyway, where were we?"

~~

Directly after lunch, Cleon sought out his shorter friend. For bribes, he brought along a small box of Lucky Charms cereal. The sharpshooter remembered Faleron's fondness for the colored marshmallows. It wasn't long before he caught him in the lobby.

"Hey! Fal!"

Faleron turned around. He strained to keep his anger hidden. "What?" he barked. "I'm busy."

"Whoa, dude! No need to get uptight," Cleon stepped back. He offered the plastic bag with the cereal inside. "I was wondering if you could help me out with this--"

"I'm not helping you out with anything. I'm just a dorky looking guy with bad threads." He shoved the taller guy away, leaving in the other direction.

The animosity was clear in his voice. Cleon gulped. He jogged to catch up, dropping the cereal onto the floor. "Hey, man, what the hell…? What's your problem?"

"My problem?! Why don't you ask your cool friends and find out my fucking problem!" Faleron yelled as he spun to face him. Winding his arm back, he let loose a hard punch to the redhead's jaw. Cleon's head whipped to the side as he found himself sprawled on the floor. The former thief sneered at him before stalking off.

Joren watched from the glass doors. His eyebrow arched in curiosity. Something was drastically amiss here. He watched the remaining man pick himself off the floor. Cleon showed a look of understanding as he wiped blood from his lip using the back of his hand. He shook his head regrettably and left.

The icy blonde operative decided to follow the thief and get to the bottom of things. Maybe this affected him as well. But he could guess by the short and fueled dialogue that it probably didn't. Still, he followed.

On one of the lower huts, toward the beach shore, Faleron had found an old tennis ball. He was now throwing it at the wall, watching it bounce, and catching it. The only sounds he heard were the faint music of parties nearby and the crashing waves on the glistening sand. 

Faleron couldn't believe it. After that whole deal in the cave, Cleon would go and be ashamed of him for the sake of some girl. I mean, sure, Cleon and him had not always been on good terms… and it certainly wasn't as bad as when they first met. But it should've been better than that.

__

…

Faleron licked his chapped lips, wiping the sweat off his brow and standing calmly in front of Cleon. He crossed his eyes slightly to look at the gun barrel pressed to his forehead. He smiled and said in a very unfazed voice. "So! I see you have your guns back…"

…

__

"What about my guns?" Cleon snorted.

The young man chuckled light-heartedly. "I'd be lying if I said I intended to return them. Nice merchandise, my good man. I applaud you on your tastes." He paused. "You must be a good shot, hmm?"

…

__

They stayed in Rogue Bay for one last night. Each officer took shifts for guarding the band of thieves and then returning the stolen goods from the warehouse. It was two hours past midnight when Keladry woke up to take over for Cleon. She entered the room where the four were still restrained. Cleon yawned. He was sitting on a chair that he tilted on its back legs by pushing off the wall. 

"You know, you could fall."

"Aww, no I won't."

Faleron stomped on the old floor, causing it to shake. Before he knew it, Cleon was tipping backwards, falling out of his chair. He landed with a thud. "Ow! Hey, you--"

"Cleon, go to sleep," Keladry said and helped him off the floor.

…

"What is that stuff?" Cleon pointed to Faleron's cereal. 

"Marshmallows. Lucky Charms to be precise with some powdered sugar I added myself. They are very tasty. Care for any, Mr. Kennan?"

"Uh, no thanks." Cleon stabbed at his eggs again. "You know, for a guy who talks like a dignitary of Mithros, you have some weird food preferences for sugar."

…

"It's okay, man. I'll think of something," Cleon said. He scratched his forehead. "So, there's no trial?"

"No trial. The law here is harsher because crimes are hardly committed in this utopian society. They know the real criminal is dead," Faleron said quietly. He shrugged. "I'm just their scapegoat."

Cleon couldn't believe his ears. "And you're going to let them do this to you?"

The guard moved forward. The tall redhead held his hands up, backing away from the cell door. Faleron stood up and grasped the iron bars of his holding cell. He pressed his cheek against the door. Faleron looked so strange, pale and quiet like a ghost. There were no witty remarks made toward him. There were no calls of 'grasshopper' or tips of his hat. His hat was forever gone, cleared away by the police as they investigated the crime scene.

There were five more minutes of silence before the guard cleared his throat. Cleon sighed, folding his arms. "Leave it up to me, Thief-Boy. Everything's going to be cool. You can teach me your poker face when you get out of here."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah. And while you're at it, use the stupid face while you're in here. Don't let them think you want to deserve this. That's just crazy, pal. Crazier than getting chased down 34th street by a couple of cheated thugs."

Faleron chuckled. "I didn't cheat them. They were just really, really bad at poker."

"Sure they were."

"Is this your attempt at cheering me up? Because you're doing a lousy job."

"I know. Hang tight, man. I'll see you later."

Faleron waved weakly as the guard escorted him away. Cleon found out from a woman at the desk about Faleron's sentence. It was indeed execution. The redhead cursed silently, and left. He lingered outside the building for a while, concentrating on the predicament. Scanra was vicious in its laws. He guessed that's why everything appeared so perfect from an outward glance. All the people were kept in line. The city was unbelievably clean and orderly. If something bad happened, they didn't even examine the evidence. They just destroyed all that was connected with disturbing their perfection.

Namely, his best friend.

"This is so screwed up," he muttered.

…

"I'd have been better off if I'd been killed by that burglar." Faleron's hat fell a little too far over his eyes. He yanked it off and stared at it before tossing it to the side. 

"Freaky hat, huh? It's a classic!" he vehemently claimed to himself while throwing the ball again. He threw it a little too wildly that time. It bounced off to the left, too fast for him to catch. It rolled down the pathway around the corner. He sighed and started toward the path to retrieve it, but stopped short when Joren came in range. The silent one held the tennis ball in his hand. He took off his grease stained over shirt and tossed it by Faleron's hat. 

Then wordlessly, he tossed the ball at the concrete wall. It bounced onto the similarly built ground and into Faleron's hands. 

The ex-thief stared at the newcomer with shock. Joren rolled his eyes, and gestured impatiently for him to throw the ball. Faleron obliged, feeling perplexed at the turn of events. Joren caught the ball and tossed it back.

They did this for a long time before Faleron spoke up. 

"What are you doing here?"

Joren lowered the arm that was preparing to toss the ball. With no flicker of interest or care in his face, he replied, "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

That caused him not to bother talking for the rest of the afternoon. Neither spoke. Neither tried to speak… Though the other resort's guests would pass through the area next to the hut, the two unlikely companions still bounced up the old tennis ball, which had probably been used to play fetch with a dog once upon a time.

For an hour, a sea gull came to watch the two, perched on a ledge just atop the hut. It's head jerked in motion with the ball's movement, keeping a watchful eye on the strange object. Faleron paused before tossing the ball high, hitting right under the ledge. The bird flew away, making those sounds that gulls were prone to make. Joren caught the ball again, glanced at the other man with some strange thought in his head…

And they continued their comfortable silence. There were no attempts to cheer up the ex-thief. It was just what he needed. Some straightforward time to think, with no pressure at all. He wished that he'd done that some more in his jail cell instead of linger on death and wallowing in self pity.

~~

Joren moaned into the mattress. He groped blindly for the lamp switch and flicked it on. "Mindelan! Why the hell are you in so late?"

Chagrined, Keladry surrendered and sat down in the chair next to his bed. He reluctantly lifted his head and propped it up with one arm. He awaited an answer while noting that her eyes were trying to focus on his face instead of his bare chest. Heavens above, he found it so inwardly amusing to watch her squirm. 

"Well?"

Keladry sighed. "Cleon was on a long guilt trip and he decided to drag Neal and I along. That was after the relentless teasing from Neal on how I was actually showing some skin. Lalasa's fault."

Joren blinked. "I think you're mistaking me for someone who cares. Get to the point. Is that all?"

"Yeah. I think I fell asleep at the table around 1:45. As far as I can tell, Neal carried me up here and woke me up just outside the door. It's 2, isn't it?"

Joren twisted around to see the digital clock. "Yeah."

She nodded. For approximately a minute, they stayed the way they were with Joren's drooping eyelids and Keladry's quiet contemplation.

"Hey."

He snapped awake the instant the word left her mouth. "Now what?"

She studied his face. "I saw you playing wall ball with Faleron this afternoon."

He rolled over onto his back. "And how the hell did you see that?"

"Oh, I was just climbing a tree trying to retrieve my kite--" she inwardly winced and shook her head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter how I saw. I just saw. And I have to admit, I'm… impressed."

Joren grabbed a pillow that was almost falling off his bed and put it over his face. "Oh, here it comes. 'You know, Stone, you might actually have some heart.' "

She smirked. "You know Stone, you might actually have some heart."

"Feh."

She snickered and sat back, stretching her arms behind her head. "Would you mind helping out with the two idiots?"

"I'd rather spend the day drinking motor oil."

She nodded. "I thought you might say that." Keladry stood up and walked to the bathroom. She leaned against the doorway languidly, taking her time to speak. He could sense her eyes were on him and knotted up a little inside, wondering what the hell she was doing. She spoke. "But I just wanted to make sure that you knew… if Cleon keeps doing these guilt trips, I'm gonna have to come in late every night… and wake you up _every night_. At 2:00 am, to boot." She shut the door.

He removed the pillow from his face and sat up. 

~~

Faleron paused from throwing the beaten up tennis ball when he noticed Joren was standing there with his trademark sunglasses and an irritated expression. He blinked. "Uh, you look a little hostile today."

"So?" Joren barked.

"Er, right." He started tossing the ball. The two resumed their game from yesterday. After five minutes of the scorching sun on their heads-- Faleron had for once left behind his hat-- Joren purposely threw the ball so hard that it bounced over their heads and over the wooden fence behind them. He held up a hand to stop Faleron from going after it. 

"What are you doing, man? I'll go get it."

"Just stay here."

Joren waited patiently, tapping his foot. After half a minute went by, there was a scuffle heard behind the fence. The ball was thrown back over. Joren caught it easily and strode over to where the fence ended. He cleared his throat. 

"Just go, ya idiot!" Neal ordered as he shoved Cleon forward. The redhead stumbled in front of Joren, his eyes wide. Neal grinned triumphantly and went on his way.

"Uh, hi."

Joren put the gray tennis ball into Cleon's hand. He glanced over at Faleron, whose arms were folded. A look of malice dominated his face. The blonde shook his head. He removed his sunglasses and stared imposingly at the slightly taller man. His iceberg blue eyes were hard to stare down.

"Between Thief-boy and me, I believe I only have to say this once, Kennan." Joren also folded his arms. Cleon gulped nervously. It was intimidating for the operative to do that with such a fed-up expression on his face. He could tell Joren did not want to be there, doing this. Whatever had made him must have been something. Joren was fighting all urges to just walk away and head for the garage. 

Joren pointed at Cleon's chest. "What you did, was very… _very_ stupid. Now go." He shoved him in the right direction, and left the same way Neal had.

Cleon stood uneasily beside Faleron. "Uh… hey man."

Faleron didn't speak.

"Um, nice weather, huh?"

Still no words.

"You think high tide will come soon?"

"Just throw the ball, Kennan."

He shrugged to himself and tossed the ball at the wall. It bounced. Faleron caught it. Taking his hint that there was to be no talking, Cleon remained quiet. He wondered what the hell they were doing. At least, he should have to apologize for what he did. 

Or maybe the apology had already been made.

"Hey, guys. Can I hide out here?" Roald called out as he ran onto the plaza. He looked out of breath. "Lalasa is at this bird show in the Auditorium, and she's already taken Kel for prisoner. Personally, I love her and all, but I'm kind of tired of all these activities."

Faleron glanced at Cleon before nodding. "Sure. Catch."

…

__

"You've really got to stop with the nicknames."

"What? You want me to go back to Faleron? Just plain Faleron?"

"It would be nice. Yes."

"But it's so boring! Right, Roald?" Cleon's eyes lit up. "Hey! Did I tell you Roald's new nickname?"

"Oh, no, here it comes," Roald sighed.

"Mr. Black and Blue! Ha! Lalasa will probably smack me in the head every time I say it, but I think it's worth it."

"You are way, WAY too much Kennan. I narrowly escape unjust execution and you're cracking jokes?"

"Somebody needs to keep the humor alive in this group." Cleon grinned

"I think I see why my girlfriend calls us the three stooges," Roald muttered.

"I'm not just a stooge!"

Faleron snickered. "That's right. Cleon, my hero."

"Yes! I'm a hero! All hail the almighty--"

"Grasshopper!"

Roald and Faleron burst into laughter. 

"Hey now…Bruise-boy, Ice Cream Pants…"

"You're such a dork, Kennan."

"And you're not?"

"No, we're stooges like Lalasa said."

"Can I be Curly?"

~~

Keladry and Neal were waiting at a table under a blue and white striped umbrella for shade. Joren joined them, picking up the bottle of water set for him and unscrewing the cap. 

"Thank you, Stone. We owe you," Keladry smirked.

"Yeah. You see, man? It wasn't that hard," Neal chuckled.

Joren glared at them both, then sat down. 

Kel tapped her straw on the lip of her cup thoughtfully. She squinted through the bright sunny light at her partner. "You know, Stone, I believe I don't want to kill you so much as I did at the beginning of this trip. Especially on the ferry." 

He arched his eyebrows slightly in sarcasm. "Oh, now I can die a happy man."

"Mind you, I'd still like to _punch_ you. A lot. Just because you did this does not mean I no longer consider you a downright asshole. You are, you are. I'm just being lenient."

Neal winced. "Considering this is _you_ we're talking about, Stone, you should take that as a compliment."

~~

Author: I hope you liked that! Man, these chapters are a bit long! Did I ever regularly do them this long last season? I can't tell. All the chapter word counts add up instead of individually. Aww, it doesn't matter. As long as you, the reader, are entertained, I will be content.

I sincerely thank every single one of you who wished me happy birthday, or at least read the words.

And now, something I have not done in a very, very long time.

To readers from the beginning, and I mean the very beginning, for when I made my debut at ff.net doing A Life Less Ordinary (ALLO). That was around late autumn of 2000, and you have stayed with me thus far. Should I be brutally honest, these people are the ones who have caught my eye, not because they made the best reviews, but because you were there. You were there when I was new to this world. 

Umm, whose name still reminds me of Escaflowne- no matter what. I think I reviewed you before I started writing for ff.net, wasn't that so?

To Juniper, who I believe I saw first at ALLO threatening me to finish Chained. You would not believe me if I said I stared at the epilogue for twenty hours this last week, trying to get the nerve to type. I'd love some inspiration.

Lanna, whose reviews for ALLO came one after another so quickly, my head was spinning. How did you manage such work? I applaud.

Laurie Makensri, a righteous mix of outrageous and proud. Has it been so long since I last read you attacked Jon in a story? Bravo, I say only to you and perhaps one other for such bold things.

To Comicstar, who I have seen many sides to. Calm, honest… and impatient. But, then again, everyone was, when I frequently left cliffhangers as if they were my legacy in ALLO.

Kestrel, I do not remember much of you in the early days, but I have your name here. You were there. Were you detailed in response, or quick and witty? You'd do me a great favor by filling me in.

Caitie. You are the first I ever _remember_ hearing the phrase "So when's the next one?" from. (Sorry, Jae, but I do believe she called it first. I know, I know. You wanted that title.)

To mE, who I'm not really sure is the original 'me' that reviewed my story back in 2000, but hey! The lack of a proper name always makes me smile.

And Quartz, the most moderate in reviews. Not too much, not too little. Always candid, encouraging, and sometimes the maker of reviews, short and sweet. 

Many thanks, I say to you. And blessed gratitude in the future.

Some of you, I did not meet until ICBW. Some of you read ICBW and went back to my earlier work, A Life Less Ordinary. You are not forgotten. You are cherished. Perhaps another six, seven months from now, if you are still here and still telling me your impressions of my story-spinning… well, we'll just see. 

__

~~Remembering:~~

A Life Less Ordinary, Chapter 23

__

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. Joren suddenly spoke, breaking the tranquil glass built around them like a hammer. "Hey, do you think we'll ever get home?"

"Don't say that. I hate it when say that," Keladry said in a heartbeat. She could have kicked herself for betraying her uneasiness.

"I've never said it to you before," he corrected in a nearly inaudible voice. She turned away. A pang of sorrow settled somewhere in his chest. He ignored the ache and stood up.

Present time and place: 

"I _am_ home," she said to no one in particular. "It _is_ over." She frowned. "Then why can't I stop feeling sad?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

HELP!

Anyone who can help plot a map of the ICBW world using the first couple of chapters of the first season and now please, please email me. Address is at top. Please, hurry! I will pass on sneak peeks to chapters and possibly pictures of the characters I made myself! HURRY!

-Sulia

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	3. Home For A While

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

Episode 3: Home for a While

By Sulia Serafine

[Finished. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

"Funny how he finishes the work on his bike _today_ when it's our last day," Lalasa commented as she and the others sat at a table on the balcony of the restaurant and watched the garage below. "He hasn't participated in this vacation one bit, has he?"

"No, I don't believe so," Neal replied. He finished peeling the orange on his plate and began eating. 

Keladry slumped down in her chair. "Can we please change the topic of conversation?"

"Sure. So what are we doing for our last night here at Seastone?" Faleron asked. 

A long debated discussion followed this question. Everyone seemed to have an idea which he or she thought was the best. Sometimes, midway through a suggestion, the idea would be dropped and replaced by another idea, by that same person. Others chose sides and listed the reasons why one thing was better than the other. Finally, they narrowed it down to two activities. 

Faleron, being the mediator and not caring what they did that night, gestured to Lalasa, Numair, and Keladry. "Three for Yamani Acrobatics Show in the Auditorium. Reasons: it's famous, it's entertaining, and there is not much more to it than sitting and watching in comfortable plush auditorium seats." He then used his other hand to indicate the opposing side: Cleon, Neal, and Roald. "And three for the Close of Summer party at the Sand Piper, where all drinks are half off the usual price. Reasons: it's interactive-- meaning you actually get up and dance, there are cheap drinks, and plenty of wild strangers to bump and grind with."

"Roald!" Lalasa squeaked.

He blushed. "I didn't say that! That was Neal! You know I wouldn't--"

"Ahem!" Neal interrupted. "Can we already pick which thing we're going to do?" He put a friendly arm over Keladry's shoulders. "Now, Tough Stuff, we still haven't found you a man. You can find one there! I really think you should choose our side. Love does miracles for the heart." He paused. "I honestly don't know where I got that, but I think you should consider it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you're mistaking that for lust, Neal."

He paused. "Oh, well, I guess that's another one. But come on!" He dropped his arm from her and motioned for Faleron to hurry up with the decision. "Hurry up and choose our idea!"

"Stop trying to influence him, Nealan Queenscove!" Lalasa scolded. 

"Children, children. Can't we all just get along?"

"With no disrespect, Mr. Salmalin, these _children_ have a very difficult time getting along," said an exasperated Roald. The mature two leaned back in their chairs, waiting for the verdict. 

Faleron cleared his throat. He stood up and walked over to the rail, where he could see into the garage. A blotch of white-yellow caught his eye. There was Joren, straddling his Black Knight Custom without a care in the world. The mediator turned back to his comrades and smiled deviously. "I have the perfect solution."

Neal cocked his head at him. "Oh? And what's that? The divine will of God maybe, or--" 

"Stop interrupting! Go ahead, Fal," Cleon waved.

"Thanks, Cleon. Okay. I'm going to shout down to Stone. If he yells at us to leave him alone, we'll go to the acrobatics show. If he insults us, we'll go to the Sand Piper."

They all started groaning and complaining. He held up his hands to tell them to quiet down. Keladry stood up and walked over to the rail. She studied her partner at his bike, uncertain. "Don't we have a better chance flipping a coin? I mean, at least that's a 50/50 chance."

He blinked at her innocently. "But, between yelling and insulting from him, that's a 50/50 chance, too."

There were quiet murmurs of agreement to the statement. Keladry covered her face with her hands. She'd seen some ridiculous things the last month, but this must have topped them all. She sat down, rattling her chair to show how she disapproved. The rest of them cheered when they saw her reluctant nod.

"All right, shall I do it or someone else?" Faleron asked. 

He was met by silence.

"Chickens," he muttered and leaned out over the rail. First he made a big exaggerated deal clearing his throat, and then he began. "Excuse me! Stone, good fellow! Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Joren walked out from the garage. He shielded his eyes from the sun while looking up. His other free hand reached for his sunglasses hooked into the top of his shirt collar. 

"We're all wondering if you would like to hang out at the Sand Piper or go see the Yamani Acrobats. Which would you prefer?" he shouted with his hands cupped around his mouth. He leaned out a little too far. Next thing he knew, Neal and Cleon had fistfuls of the back of his shirt to pull him back. 

"Well?" he yelled again.

"Leave me out of it! Go away!" Joren shouted as he put on his sunglasses.

Lalasa grinned in triumph. "Acrobats it is."

"And while we're at it," Joren continued, "you're all a bunch of immature, undisciplined morons." He went back to his bike. Then he picked up his helmet, and went deeper in the garage until they lost sight of him. 

Faleron turned around, straightening his shirt from the wrinkles received from his two friends grabbing it. He shrugged and said. "Okay, a 'go away' _and_ an insult."

"Damn," the Carthakian woman whispered.

Numair dug around in his pockets until he came up with a coin for him to toss. Faleron examined it. He announced heads for acrobats, and tails for the Sand Piper. Everyone watched him apprehensively for the decision to be made. With a casual air, he flipped the coin up over his head and caught it. He slammed it down on his other forearm and took a peek.

"So which is it?" Cleon asked breathlessly.

~~

"What do you think of her?"

"No, no, I'm looking at _that_ one, Red."

"I feel like doing twists and cartwheels. Hot damn, she looks fine."

Lalasa smacked the back of all three young men's heads. They all cried out and rubbed their struck scalps, except for Neal who turned and leaned forward, hugging her so tightly that she squealed and apologized. She sullenly sat on a stool.

"Stupid coin. Who wants to hang out at this rowdy place?" She looked around the Sand Piper in disgust. With all her carefree happy attitude during their stay, she had avoided this place. It was like a cheap Xerox of a club in the city and trying to put a different theme to it. They did a horrible job with decorations. She knew. After all, Lalasa had spent her whole life hanging around clubs. This one was by far the most colorblind.

"Aww, afraid that some other girls might try to steal the handsome vice president's son?" Neal whispered as he spotted a couple of girls approaching Roald from where he sat with Numair. "After all, everyone does know who Roald is. Is _that_ the reason you didn't want to come?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "For your information, no. I trust him."

He gave her a blank look.

"For goodness sake, I better get over there," she shakily whispered and darted away like a hummingbird. 

The collection of young men chuckled. They talked for a while, actually getting into the spirit of things. Eventually, they got onto the dance floor, drawn by alluring faces and curves.

"I can't believe this is what I've been missing every time you two went down here," Faleron said loudly over the band. 

"You better believe it!" Cleon grinned. He took the hand of another girl, who pulled him closer to the stage.

Elsewhere, Keladry was pretending to listen to a man-- his name began with an R, but she couldn't remember what it was-- describing his father's ranch. When they first got there, Neal and Lalasa had made it a priority to nudge her in the right direction with a complete stranger. Unfortunately for her, _this_ had been the complete stranger. And he remained a stranger since she was neither hearing his descriptions nor remembering his name. 

She cast her gaze downward and sipped some of her drink, a strawberry daiquiri. Faleron himself had come over when he saw her drinking it, and did tell her that her nose was turning red, like it did the last time they let her have some alcohol. She kindly told him that it was a blessing, hopefully to drive away interested men who had their eyes on her.

Somehow, this one hadn't been discouraged. She inwardly screamed. If only she weren't so polite and courteous, she wouldn't be standing there feigning her actions.

The nameless man laughed. For good effect, she began to frown. _Notice the frown. Stop that stupid laughter._ Did this man not get the clue? He was laughing. She was frowning. He or any of this get-Kel-a-date business did not amuse her. _Get. Me. Out. Of. Here._

She finished her daiquiri and set it down on a vacant table beside them. "Um, excuse me, I believe my friend is calling me." She felt slightly guilty when he gave her a disappointed sigh. "It was very nice meeting you though. Perhaps I'll see you around?" _No, no, no, no--_

"Sounds wonderful."

Keladry gratefully walked away. She wove through the throng of people, heading to where Numair sat. Up until a few minutes ago, Roald had been keeping him company, but Lalasa had been hit by jealous paranoia (thanks to Neal) and dragged him out of sight. She took his former seat beside the Councilman. He politely nodded.

"Nice complexion."

She touched her cheek, remembering her red face. She allowed a small smile. "Thanks."

"How goes your night, Officer?"

"Fine enough. It seems to be heaven for our three out there," she looked over her shoulder where she could see Cleon's recognizable mess of red hair. "I don't know. I'm just not that excited. I mean, we're leaving here. I'll miss it. I had fun. In a month, this place began to feel like home." She paused. "The resort, not the bar."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. I really wish we'd been able to drag Daine down here. She needs something like this." He stroked his chin, unshaved. "I ought to team up with Lalasa and Roald to plan something for next year."

She nodded. "Sounds great, sir."

"It's our last day here. Please, no 'sirs'."

Keladry repeated her nod and spun around on her stool. She watched the band for a while, tapping her foot on the stool leg in rhythm with the music. After two songs, she felt the urge to look to her right. She did. And then she could hardly contain her astonishment. 

Joren sat at the end of the bar, overrun by shadows. He sipped a glass of something. Knowing him, it was probably some scotch. He preferred it for some reason, and when given a choice somewhere, he was known to order it. Keladry excused herself from the Council member and approached him steadily. The white-blonde man was staring at his glass, his shoulders hunched. In the dark, all she could truly make out was his hair, contrasting against his black clothing and his surroundings. She sat down beside him.

He glanced at her before taking another long sip of his drink. He emptied the tiny shot glass and pushed it away from him to be filled by the young bartender with muted green eyes.

"How's the bike?" she asked. It was the last night. Maybe, just maybe, he'd give permission for a conversation.

He didn't meet her gaze. "It's okay."

They sat like that for what seemed like hours. The band took a break, and all the dancers wandered off to their tables. There they drank and wet their parched throats. Keladry realized at that point that the club was very warm. She fanned herself with her hand. Why had she chosen the thick sweater shirt that Lalasa had shown her? 

__

Because it was the same color as your uniform, she reminded herself. _Not that it matters._

"Mindelan," Joren spoke up finally.

"What?"

He straightened up and faced her. "When we get back to HQ, could I work on your bike?"

She gaped at him. "Mine? Why?"

"There's nothing I can do to improve mine legally. I'm bored. I could upgrade yours. I bargained with my supplier for some extra parts. Some I'm keeping for myself. There are others I'd sell to you." His tone was fairly calm and not hostile as usual. 

She wondered about his attitude. This was something new. He was actually being generous. Or at least, she _thought_ that was what he must consider his version of generosity. Maybe this was another twisted trick he'd use to get her to show some emotion, then stomp it flat under his heel. It could be similar to that time… He reappeared after his supposed death from falling off the building with a steel-feathered bird as his cushion.

"Um, I'm not sure."

He accepted the answer. "Fine. I can sell them elsewhere."

"Hey! I never said no."

He drank some more. "Then choose one or the other. The worst quality I know of is indecision."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

Joren paused to squint at her. "You're all red again. Haven't I told you to stay away from the alcohol? You look like an idiot."

"You always say I look like an idiot. And why would you care anyway?"

He slouched down against the bar counter. "Because you're my assigned partner and I have to be _seen _with you."

She could have groaned out of annoyance. It always came back to that. They were _assigned_ partners. And their torment of each other would only last until otherwise chosen by the Dominion Jewel Protection Force. During the first few weeks, Keladry had prayed nightly for a different partner or no partner at all. She was so desperate back then that she had not been picky. Whoever answered prayers could save her any way he, she, or it liked.

"Ya know, I think I'll have one of those," she said, frankly having a less than happy time compared to the last month. It would have been nice to see the Yamani acrobats. She yawned. "Bartender! I'll have the same as this guy." She nodded her head at Joren. 

He regarded her with wary eye. "Are you _trying_ to piss me off by getting more red? I swear, I can't even tell your freckles apart now."

She frowned. "I have freckles? Tiny ones I guess," she admitted, "if I have them. Really? I never looked."

"Figures," he muttered. "Shouldn't be allowed alcohol. Probably have one more drink before she slides off the stool."

Keladry disliked drinking. It often led to stupid, pointless things. It turned her face a crimson color. It killed brain cells. She avoided it when she could and often tried to encourage people to do the same. But just this once, she wanted to show down Joren and that disdainful scowl on his perfect pale face. A face which was by no means red.

"I can out drink you if I wanted," she challenged.

His lips curled up into a malicious smile. She wondered for a second if he was a sadist, then realized that would take her nerve away and stopped. She sat up straighter. The bartender nudged forward the glass, having watched them suspiciously before walking away.

She picked it up and held it out. "Cheers."

That evening, Faleron and Numair helped the two DJPF male officers to their rooms before they would go do something foolish. The two had been surrounded by strange but exotic looking women, and were wandering out of the Sand Piper with goofy smiles on their faces. If Cleon and Neal had been allowed to have all the fun they wanted, they wouldn't be found in the morning; the whole group would have missed the ferry.

Lalasa and Roald had not been seen since Lalasa had stolen him away from the Sand Piper to avoid other vulture-like women. Roald incessantly insisted that he was not even looking at another woman, but when a stranger walked up and planted a small peck on his cheek, Lalasa had gone ghost-white. That was the end of their stay at the club. 

That left Keladry and Joren to go up to their room alone. Or at least, Joren dragged Keladry to the room. The female officer was not as red as before, but surprisingly sedated. She kept tilting her head back and gazing at the ceiling while Joren had a firm grip on her left arm. He made her constantly move around or else that she would crumple down to the ground, yawning and closing her eyes. 

A maintenance man, by his uniform, was already coming up from the basement and was in the elevator when the stainless steel doors opened. 

"What floor?"

"Third," Joren replied and tugged Keladry in after him. Because of the limited space to move around in, Joren was forced to keep her still. The maintenance man stepped out into the second floor. By the time they reached the third, Keladry was completely but peacefully passed out.

"Damn it," he cursed. Muffling his profanities, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her onto the third floor. To his gratitude, no one was in sight. As he slowly advanced toward their room, he thought to himself whether or not she was going to have a hangover and if this would affect his sleep. 

Somehow, she always managed to wake him up. And the fact that she was asleep first was not a guarantee that she would still sleep after he had woken in the morning. He adjusted his hold on her when she slipped. Keladry instinctively rest her head at the junction where his shoulder met his neck. Her breath was warm on his cold skin.

They reached the door to their room. Here, Joren was presented with a problem. His key was in his pocket, but he couldn't reach it because he was carrying her.

"Mindelan, wake up. Wake up!" he fiercely whispered. When she did not respond, he carefully set her legs down and put his other arm around her waist. Her forehead still pressed to his neck. He reached into his back pocket and extracted the key. Then he swiped it through the scanner. The green light blinked and the door opened.

"It's about time," he muttered and put both arms around her waist to bring her in. Since his was the closest bed, he set her there and removed her shoes. As he tugged sharply at one foot, his elbow hit the phone on the nightstand off its hook. He could care less right then. Joren haphazardly folded the covers reverse so they covered her without having to pull the covers out from under her. Then Joren went to the bathroom. She could sleep in his bed for all he cared. It didn't matter to him. He was finally going to get uninterrupted slumber.

The idea was so attractive to him that he completely forgot about the possibility of her hangover. He brushed his teeth, tossed his shirt in the bag full of dirty clothing, and kicked off his shoes. If either of them tripped over the shoes in the morning, he wouldn't care. Sleep was beckoning him like a lover.

He fell onto her usual bed and was dreamless in less than a minute.

~~

Around 3:37, Joren opened his eyes. He blinked them rapidly, trying to gain some vision in the darkness. He could see the white sheets of the bed next to his get twisted as their user was tossing and turning, moaning. He forced himself to sit up and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mindelan, hey, Mindelan. Stop that. You woke me up after all."

She groaned aloud this time, curling up into a ball and burying her face into the bedding. Through bunched up cloth, he could hear her barely inaudible voice croak, "I feel like I'm gonna hurl."

Not happily looking forward to a cleaning bill for whatever might happen if he chose to ignore her, Joren muttered more profanities. He got out of his bed somehow, still clad in black jeans and socks, tottering on his feet from exhaustion. Keladry groaned again, leaning more toward the end of her bed so she could hang her head off the edge.

He sat down beside her and tried to untangle the sheets from her body. She shivered as the cold air from the air conditioning vent above blew onto her exposed arm. Goosebumps formed on her flesh, but Joren hauled her up anyway and guided her to the bathroom. He flicked on the light.

Her head was pounding. It was like someone had kindly substituted a carpenter's nail with her head and cheerily hammered away on that. She could not for the life of her use any of her usual coordination or balance, so she leaned heavily upon her partner as he sat her down in front of the toilet.

"Here," he said coldly and lifted the lid and seat so she could lean on the bowl without the loose and shifty parts. Since the bathroom was still incredibly narrow, Joren had to stand in the bathtub so she had room to sit. 

He dimly recalled the first and only time he hadn't been able to keep his liquor down. _This might take a while,_ he thought. The drowsy young man grabbed a couple folded hotel towels to use as a pillow while lying in the bathtub. He might as well get comfortable while his partner vomited. 

"That's it, keep going," he said absently to her with no changing inflection or evidence of emotion in his voice. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His hand fumbled around for another towel beside the bathtub. It was colder than he thought, and his shirt was already in the laundry bag.

Minutes passed. He didn't know how many, but he heard the toilet flush. Something warm and almost his height lied down with him in the bathtub. Vaguely, he knew it was a person, but his mind was as dead asleep as his body was. The person's head rested on his bare chest, the nose tickling his collarbone. He wanted to object, but he didn't want to open his eyes and lift a finger either. What did it matter? Whatever it was, it was warm-- and he was tired and very, very cold.

~~

"Where are they? And I thought everybody was worried that Neal and I were going to be late," Cleon complained. He drank his orange juice greedily, savoring the flavor and the pulpy content. His roommate was asleep aside him, cheek pressed against the tabletop and limbs as loosely hanging as a puppet's without its strings.

Lalasa, sitting on her beloved's lap, only shrugged and blissfully smiled up at Roald, who blushed and shyly smiled back. Numair was trying to get his coffee just right. Half an hour ago, he'd lectured a waitress on the different varieties of coffee and the way to get it just right with added milk, cream, and sugar. Of course, no one had any idea what the Councilman was talking about, and he was ignored.

Faleron realized he was the only normal person in the group right then, with his best friend now closing in on his third glass of O.J. He stood up. "I'll go get them."

When he got to the room, no one answered his knock or his intercom call. Maybe they were both still asleep, though he doubted that was a possibility. Last time he had roomed with the mostly impassive, mostly rude special operative, Joren had woken up at every little thing. Sometimes, the blonde went out on midnight walks and ended up sleeping somewhere else more remote.

__

Just break into their room. It's a measly hotel lock. No biggie.

He did just that and hoped no camera was watching him. 

Inside, he found both beds unmade. He tripped on three shoes, two that had to have belonged to Joren, and one belonging to Kel. The light from the bathroom was on. Were they both in there? He couldn't hear anything, but the hum of the air conditioning.

Tiptoeing, Faleron entered the bathroom. He saw the toilet with both lid and seat up. He saw towels carelessly fallen onto the floor from their perch next to the bathtub. He saw Keladry and Joren asleep _in_ the bathtub. He saw-- 

__

Wait.

He ogled at the sight of them. 

__

And I thought I'd seen EVERYTHING…

He smirked. Then he didn't.

__

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Faleron could just imagine what each of the two sleeper's reactions would be upon waking up. Something in him said that they hadn't meant for this to happen, and would have no memory of it happening. Maybe it was the slight scent of alcohol. Maybe it was his intuition. Whatever it was… advised him to separate them-- say, get Keladry into her bed-- before he woke them up.

__

If there is an indescribable force up there who likes to see no bloodshed, please, PLEASE keep Joren asleep! And PLEASE let this work!

He gently lifted Keladry's arms so they were not wrapped around her partner's waist. Then he moved the towel over Joren's chest as he lifted Keladry up. This way, Joren would not notice loss of heat. Keladry remained asleep as he carried her out and put her into one of the beds. If he was lucky, it was the right bed.

Now, for the final test. He walked back to the door and cleared his throat.

"Good morning guys!" he said in an exaggerated, cheery voice.

Keladry yawned. "What the hell am I doing here? This isn't my bed!"

Joren stumbled out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders to keep warm in the chilly room. "If you hurled there, you're paying for it."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Stone," she protested. She suddenly touched her forehead. "Ouch. Head… hurts…"

Faleron tiptoed backwards. _Indescribable Force? I hope I'm not asking too much, but could you grant me a safe exit?_

"Thief-boy! What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Joren bellowed.

~~

Commissioner Wyldon merrily strolled around the core walkways branching out from level to level. He went by the cafeteria to get some fresh grapefruit juice. He visited the Training Center to greet hard working third class and apprenticing officers. He even held a conversation with Dr. Baird Queenscove while dropping by the clinic. Everything was peaceful in the world. Officers from all over the country roamed throughout HQ, filing day to day reports on car accidents, thieves, and other offenses that concerned them. 

That reminded him. Advisor Alanna Trebond and her husband were arriving in the afternoon to negotiate some second class officers to borrow for escort duty. He couldn't care. Let them take however many officers they wanted. The last major thing to have happened all month was a terrorist attempt out near Carthak, which had been cleanly dealt with via some experienced, older first class officers which had been assigned there. The vast majority of the small first class was at least in his or her thirties. It was good, to Wyldon, to see they had years of training. 

Unlike the handful of first class of officers who always seemed to _want_ to find trouble. I know they particularly didn't cause the Immortals deal, but the way it was dealt with was less than exemplary. 

__

They could have gone without pretending to be Roger's help. That would have been fantastic.

He shrugged it off and continued on his happy way, wondering if he had time for a nap.

A third class officer was running down an escalator. He looked to be around 24 or 25 with dirty blonde hair, in a dark blue and black uniform.

"You there, stop running! This is not a playground!" Wyldon shouted in a resonant voice.

The young man headed straight for the commissioner. "Sir! I was told to come find you! I--"

"Stop! I demand that you calm down and act properly. This is not the way the DJPF act!" he lectured.

The young man nodded and started to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he stood up straight and saluted. Then he waited approval from Wyldon to speak. "Yes, sir. Uh, it seems that… that Officers Mindelan, Stone, Kennan, and Queenscove are back." The young man peered at Wyldon's unmoved face. "S-sir?"

Wyldon stumbled over to the edge of the walkway, leaning heavily upon the top rail. 

"Sir!" the young officer exclaimed. "Commissioner, are you all right?"

"Does it look like I'm all right?!" Wyldon thundered. The younger officer helped him stand, with the commissioner's arm over one shoulder. "Get me… get me to Baird. I think I might have a virus…" _They're back! I was having such peaceful tranquillity! Why must they be back?_

~~

The next day:

"You know, life suddenly just went from Technicolor to black and white," Neal said as they sat down in the middle of the mess hall. None of them touched their food. None of them felt like eating regular standard issue food. It was so _regular_ after a whole month of the best platters in the history of food. 

Cleon stood up. "I'm going to the shooting range. At least there's something to do there."

They said bye to him, still in boring, droning voices. It didn't matter what they did. Unless something big and exciting dropped into their laps, they were likely to bang their heads against the walls.

Keladry moved the peas around her plate with a fork. "Who was it that said Tortall was overstocked with officers?"

"I believe that was my cousin. He says it a lot," a voice from behind her replied. Keladry frowned. 

"Who's that?" she asked as she turned around, swinging her leg over the bench. A young man, older than her most likely, smiled down on her. She rose to greet him and shake his outstretched hand. Neal waved feebly, still feeling so bored and lazy that he could not get up.

"My cousin, Warric," the stranger said. "I'm--"

"Iden?" Keladry finished with the tiniest of doubts. "You look like Warric a lot."

"Hmm. Yes, people tell me that," Iden nodded. 

"Please, have a seat. Neal, scoot over."

Neal lethargically moved over, offering space to Iden Vikison. Warric's cousin sat, folding his hands one atop the other on the table. Keladry scratched her temple. "Hmm… I think Uline told me you were… an editor?"

Iden nodded. "Yes. Actually, I'm here to see my dear Uline. Oh, and my cousin."

Neal yawned. Keladry shot him a look, telling him to be polite and look interested.

"You wouldn't happen to know where they would be, would you?"

"Um, I usually see them in the training center." She rattled off the directions slowly so he could remember it. 

He stood up and bowed his head to her. There was something very out of place with his crisp dark gray suit and sapphire blue tie. Keladry wondered dimly how Warric and Iden could be related. She could definitely see Uline falling for someone so refined and sophisticated, but still…

"Good day to you… Officer Mindelan, was it? I'm sorry, I should be watching the news more often," he chuckled amiably. "And good day to you, too, sir." He bowed his head toward Neal, who once again weakly lifted his hand to wave. Iden went on his way.

Keladry sighed. "So _that's _who she wants to marry."

Neal snorted. "Well, if you ask me, that upper class accent sucks. He's faking it. For sure."

"You're just jealous. You can't do it, and can't use it on your ladies."

He grinned. "You know me too well."

Keladry felt a vibration from her pager. She checked it. 

"What is it, Tough Stuff?"

She ignored the use of her nickname and showed him. "Wyldon wants us in his office."

Neal raked a hand through his wavy hair. "Somehow, I have a feeling this is not going to be good."

~~

Cleon squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession. All hit their mark. Someone knocked on the bulletproof glass behind him. He turned to see who it was. The shooting range attendant waved a phone in front of him. Before he'd gone into the room, he'd been required to take off certain things, one of them being his pager. He nodded, took off his headset and visor, then exited the room through the multiple security check doors.

"Who is it?" he asked the attendant, a woman with a foreign accent.

"Faleron King," she answered.

Cleon put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, don't they have com screens down there? I'm staring at a blank screen here."

"No, they don't. What is it?"

Faleron was moving something around by the sounds Cleon heard in the background. "You won't believe this, but Ms. Sarrasri is transferring to Tusaine. And she's taking all three of us with her."

"What!" Cleon exclaimed. "Tusaine's far! Unless you're going by plane…"

"Yup. You guessed it, Red."

Cleon's pager started beeping. For once, his volume was turned up and he heard it. "Wait a second." He checked the message. "Dude, got to go. Wyldon wants me in his office. Make a nice speech at my funeral, huh? I don't know what I did, but I don't think I'm gonna want to look forward to this."

~~

"Where is Kennan? I'll skin his hide if he can't get here on time," Wyldon threatened. He eyed the present three miserably. 

Neal was fast asleep in an armchair set against the wall, his chin practically on his chest. He changed position from time to time, but still remained sleeping. Joren was in an office chair brought out from a cubicle outside. His feet were propped up on the corner of the desk. Wyldon would have liked to ordered him not to, but he had a feeling the operative wouldn't obey him anyway. Keladry was the normal one. She sat awake and upright, hands folded in her lap-- fingers laced. He could count on her and her over-achieving ways. 

The door slid open. Cleon stumbled in, his jacket wrinkled and his hair messier than usual. He ducked his head and muttered an apology, then stood since there were no chairs left. 

"Kennan, do I have to send you back to the Academy to learn how to be prompt?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir," he said quickly. "Won't happen again."

Wyldon closed his eyes and massaged the sides of his head. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. Neal's head snapped up, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open. 

"Huh?"

"Queenscove!"

"Sorry, Commissioner."

Wyldon stood up, bracing his arms on the desk as he studied each of them in turn. "It came to my attention this morning as Chief Hennegan was talking to me about transferring officers, that most of your graduating classes have been sent out of this city. This does not include your class, Stone, but I believe you get the point." He stood straight. "With that in mind, I want to send good…" he winced "first class… officers such as yourselves somewhere where you will be needed." His brow creased in thought. "The only problem is to think of where."

Cleon's face lit up like a Yuletide tree. "Sir! Sir! What about Tusaine?"

Everyone stared. 

He gulped. "Well, I just thought, um, since Stone was there for a long time, we could all settle into routine there until there's a need for first class back here or… wherever. Heheh…" 

Joren glared daggers at him.

Wyldon was thrilled. "Kennan! That's brilliant. You get a raise!"

Everyone stared at him.

"Wow! Really?" _And here I was aiming to stay with Fal and the rest of them._ He saluted. "Thank you, sir!"

Wyldon pressed a button on his desk. "I want the transfer papers for Kennan, Stone, Mindelan, and Queenscove right away."

"Yes, sir," a nameless secretary replied. 

The commissioner joined his hands behind his back. "This took shorter than I expected. With that said," his cheerful face dropped to a scowl. "Get out of here."

Keladry and Neal jumped up from their seats like frightened rabbits and moved fast to the door with Cleon. Joren rolled his eyes and stalked out after them. Wyldon let out a deep breath and walked around his desk to move the chairs. Before he knew what was going on, the doors parted and Cleon stepped back in with one foot.

"By the way sir, how _is_ your golf swing?"

"KENNAN! GET OUT!"

~~

Days later:

"Train? But the others are on a plane!" 

"Stop your whining. We're going to the same place."

Cleon sighed. He sunk down into the seat next to the window. The Tortall train station was a series of wide platforms with elegant arching roofs over them. The tracks joined at several places. Then they went off into numerous directions. 

The crowd of people was thin. Mostly it was families uniting, businessmen and women talking, and a whole lot of suitcases. Steam rose up from the front of the train, which the breeze blew onto the platform. The effect created was like the black and white movies, where the guy with the tan trench coat would say goodbye to his beautiful girl, Friday. 

The ticket booths were filled with tired looking employees, taking tickets, issuing tickets, and exchanging credits and tokens. The booths were painted dark green with gold patterns. Above the booths were screens showing departures and arrivals as if it were an airport. 

Inside the train, the isle was narrow and padded. Keladry put herself in charge of shoving everyone's carry-on's overhead in the compartments while they sat and looked out the windows. Four seats were a group. Two faced the other two. This pattern continued throughout the train car. Between the facing seats were a rail and a fold up table, if they wished to eat. Everything was polished wood or brass. And if it was painted, it was either dark green or matching such color. 

"Okay, any more bags? I'm not getting up later," she informed the three men. 

Neal shook his head. "No, thank you. You got everything." He paused. "Oh, darn. Could you get my CD player?" He patted a bulging medium sized bag in his lap. "I just have the CDs."

She nodded and reached into his marked bag. She felt around until she held some rectangular device the size a little smaller than her outstretched hand. "You got the new small one? I still have the large one," she said while handing it to him. 

He frowned. "The one for those 12 cm diameter CDs that was like… fifty years ago? Man! Why do you have that?" He was horrified. "You've had the same good first class salary as me… longer than me even! Where do you come off being poor?"

"I send my salary to my family, mostly. Some corporate scum fired my dad. Then he had that stroke. Now I want him to take it easy. And I can do that if I send most of my salary to help all my siblings schooling, and that includes my nieces and nephews."

Neal nodded slowly. Owen and he had always thought of asking her personal things, but she'd never responded the way they hoped. Now that she was still loose from vacation, he was getting a lot of information about her that he could never have inferred on his own. "But hey, can't your brother support his own family?"

She blinked. "Oh, he does. I'm just the aunt that spoils them rotten. It's what I do. And the same goes to my little sisters and brothers who are still in high school."

"Hmm. I thought with all your success in the DJPF, one of them would follow you."

Keladry could have laughed until her sides hurt. She sat down across from him. "Are you kidding? Do you remember how work-obsessed I was in the Academy?"

"Was? You still _are_."

"Exactly. I did that at home, too, during the _few_ times I did allow myself to come home. And my brothers and sisters thought that the Academy must have been hell. It's my fault. I made it look like it was torture. Of course none of them would follow me there!" She shrugged. "Back to the subject. I went to a garage sale and got the old CD player for cheap. And a whole lot of music."

"_Old_ music," Cleon inserted, still gazing out the window from where he sat next to Neal.

"Yeah, but some of its okay," she amended. "I'll let you guys listen sometime."

Joren came back from where he was checking out the other train cars and sat down next to the window and Keladry just as the train conductors boarded the last passengers. The whistle blew three times, ringing in their ears. Then the train began to move.

"Tell me again why we're on a train, and not a plane? Or even a greyhound bus?" Cleon grumbled. He folded his arms and puffed out his cheeks as he pouted. 

Keladry crossed her ankles casually as she settled into a comfortable position. "We're being transferred. For who knows how long. Hence, packing up all possessions and literally changing addresses." She began counting off her fingers. "Too much stuff for greyhound. Plane is extremely expensive. Ms. Sarrasri can afford it and pay for Fal and Lalasa while Roald can pay for himself with his parents' money. That leaves us with the train. Rent off some extra baggage space for me and Stone's bikes, and the rest is no problem." She pointed to the window. "And besides, it's scenic. Relaxing."

"I suppose. Especially after being home at HQ for a total of what… _four_ days and then being shipped off because Wyldon is tired of us?"

She bristled. "He's not tired of us. We're the best people he has. He just doesn't need us. Tusaine does."

Joren turned to glare at her. "You know nothing of Tusaine." He looked at all of them with contempt. "And don't think any of you are working on the stuff that I did down there. You're all sticking to residential crap."

"I thought that was for our new Section T chief to decide," Neal said. He snapped his fingers. "Damn. I forgot to change my identification to 1T now instead of 1B." He sighed. "I'll do it there."

"At least we don't have to be in uniform until we get there," Keladry spoke. "It isn't all that bad. I mean, Wyldon could have sent us to the Roof of the World with Owen."

Cleon leaned his head on the window curtain. "You know, right now, that doesn't sound so bad. Sounds adventurous."

"It sounds like a pain in the neck. Bugs, wild animals, Immortals… all this stuff with the _limited_ technology allowed to be taken with you… I mean, they got rid of close to fifteen first class officers to use on that expedition-- including _our_ Owen… with some of the best scientists in the world. They don't deserve this. They deserve nice quiet labs and caged lab rats," Neal exaggerated with clenched fists. "Who knows what kind of stuff is up there? We may never see Owen ever again! Oh dear God, the horror! The _horror_!"

Everyone stared at him, including the other passengers. Neal sat down from his outburst and sheepishly blushed. 

"Plus, all that would tire me out in one week, tops," he shook his finger at them.

Joren sneered. "Pansy."

"Shut up, Blondie."

"You want to say that again? I dare you, Queenscove."

Neal opened his mouth to taunt, but decided better on it. As much as the idea of taking on Joren and paying him back for all the times he'd endured the name-calling and bad treatment, he didn't feel like fighting in an enclosed space like a train car. And besides… the only reason Neal had a chance to fight an operative of all people was because Joren was still slightly injured. The biker had tried to hide it, but it was clear that his side still pained him when he strained it. All because he insisted he did not need help. No one spoke of it though.

"Are we there yet?" Cleon moaned in agony. "I hate trains! For the love of… why aren't we there yet?" he whined.

"Some things never change." Keladry smiled.

~~

A few days later:

Tusaine. If Carthak had been Batman's Gotham City, then Tusaine was Superman's Metropolis. The skyscrapers stretched toward the clouds. The number of buildings and of people could have easily matched Tortall's, but it was like someone had drawn a distinct border and said that it was enough. No more and no less was needed. 

There were homes and apartments, drug stores and malls, and every little thing you could think of-- it had its place in its own district. All the flower shops were in the flower district. The vegetables were at the open market. The fish market was beside the docks. Even the slums seemed to have its personal marked place. 

As they stepped off the train, they took in the sight of their new home with awe and reverence, save for Joren. Cleon brightened up considerably. He dropped his bags beside his friends and ran through the crowd. Neal picked up the discarded things and shrugged to Keladry.

"Where's he going?"

"Beats me," she replied. She glanced over her shoulder at Joren. "Hey, they're shipping our stuff straight away to the local DJPF station here, right?" She pointed to the men in white uniforms who were handling bags and marking them for transport by truck. Unlike other countries, Mithros was a country proud for being in strict control of the transportation of people's belongings and not losing them.

He nodded. "We pick it up at the station. There are no dorms here in Tusaine. _We_ house ourselves in a special DJPF owned apartment building reserved for certain officers and civilians. Part of the salary is cut and that is the rent. It's cheap and bad because the government owns it, and no one wants to bring up complaints when there is worse. We have to take whatever resident officer cases they want us to, though."

"Oh, right. Sure. Resident officer. Third class stuff." Neal wasn't impressed.

Cleon returned from the throng of people, each arm over a different person's shoulder: Roald and Faleron. "The Three Stooges are back again!"

"Kennan, quit that! You're messing with my hat!" Faleron protested. He finally managed to loose himself and adjust his hat with care. Cleon also let go of Roald. Not too far behind, Lalasa and Daine were walking calmly through the crowd toward them.

They met Keladry with hugs, and the rest with handshakes. Eagerly, one asked the other how the other was doing. They helped with the carry-on bags and made sure they saw their own suitcases were being transported. They moved out of the Tusaine Station and to the rented light blue van out in the parking lot. Neal related their whole trip while Lalasa did the same about the plane. She went on and on about how she'd never been on one before and how great it had been except for the part where the altitude made her ears pop.

Roald drove with Daine in the front passenger seat. In the middle from left to right were Joren, Keladry, and Lalasa. And in the back, Neal, Cleon, and Faleron sat in the same left to right order. The back was filled with chatter and the occasional sounds and smacks of roughhousing. In the front, Daine carried on a polite but friendly conversation with the other girls about the city. Every now and then, Lalasa would ask Roald something. He would reply shortly, then go back to focusing solely on driving. He'd never done it much back in Copper City, or any place his parents sent him. But with his new job under a Council member, he began to like being chauffeur. 

Only Joren did not speak. He'd seen the city already. He had but one thing to think about. And it made him grimace on the inside.

~~

The local DJPF station was regulatory. The building was brown and had three stories. There was a multi-leveled parking garage beside it. Squad cars, both hover and ground vehicles, passed by. Most of them were ground vehicles that they saw. The more expensive hover ones went around the back.

Now they wore their uniforms, which fit in with everyone else's. It made them feel more at home even as they passed through a metal detector and had to be scanned by hand because of certain metal fittings in their clothes. All the divisions were marked at the front desk. There were the standard divisions for theft, homicide, and so on. Each division was equally busy as the next. With a city with so much variety, there were various cases that needed work. 

"Do you think you'd be our tour guide, Stone?" Cleon asked guilelessly with a smile of awe on his face as they walked through the halls of the station behind the black clad man.

"No," he replied curtly. 

They entered an elevator. It was not a clear tube shaped elevator shaft like the ones at Headquarters. They rather resembled the ones at the Seastone Resort. At the thought, Keladry made a mental note to thank her former Instructor for the free stays. When they arrived back at HQ for the four days, she'd never thought to go to the training center. And that was bad, because she needed to brush up on some of her skills with the collapsible energy glaive.

On the third and top floor, they stepped out. Joren led them past a couple of desks to an office enclosed in snowy glass where you could only make out the silhouettes of persons inside. He pressed the intercom button. When no one answered, he turned to a woman at a desk right outside the office.

"Where's Raoul?"

If his three companions had the physical fragility of Victorian housewives, they would have fainted. Instead, they gawked. Keladry, in particular, shakily lifted a hand. "_Marshal_ Raoul Malorie?! As in, the guy who served with Advisor Trebond at the Goldenlake scandal? B-but… he's… he's almost as legendary as she is!"

The woman seated at the desk yawned. She drummed her fingers. Apparently, she was just as non-impressed as Joren was. "I'm sorry, but the Marshal and Chief Flyndon Whiteford are out right now. I'm in charge."

They looked to the name on the office door. It read, Chief Flyndon Whiteford. Joren explained. 

"This is Buriram Tourakom, in charge of criminal intelligence. She's more of a multi-district officer, allied with the Feds and was my former quote boss unquote," he drawled. 

The woman stood up and shook their hands. His former boss was short-- exactly Faleron's height-- as well as stocky. They could tell she carried muscle under the feminine gray suit. High cheekbones and a square chin on a seemingly serious face. The others admired her golden brown skin. She regarded Joren with level black eyes. "Well, now that you're back, Joren, it seems I am your boss _again_. Are you all working for me now?" she stopped them before they could open their mouths. "And by the way, call me Buri. Those who don't, eventually learn, don't they, Joren?"

He glared at her before sitting on the corner of her desk. 

"Uh, Buri, ma'am, umm… Commissioner Wyldon assigned us under Chief Flyndon Whiteford. We didn't know Tusaine housed other Fed related units… besides the DJPF," Cleon stammered.

Neal elbowed him. "The Fed units _are_ subdivisions of the DJPF, idiot. They're just really hard to get into. Mostly George Swoop picks them out. A little less harder than AA class officers."

Buri walked out from behind her desk. "It doesn't matter. Joren, I'll tell Raoul you're here when he gets back."

"Shouldn't you tell Chief Whiteford first?" Keladry asked.

"Oh, yes, I should, but whenever the Marshal is in town, he likes to take over Whiteford's job. Some stupid testosterone thing," she rambled. She clapped her hands together and pointed back down the path they came. "Now, take the elevator to the second floor. Get your files checked with Dom. Joren, make sure they meet Dom and the rest of the Riders' Own that Raoul hauls around with him." She tapped her chin. "I have a feeling Raoul is going to make an effort to steal you all from Flyn."

"Yes, ma'am," the icy blonde said sardonically. "I'll go do whatever the hell I want now. Probably get some sleep."

She nodded. "I missed that cutting attitude. Makes me feel like a good court-marshaling of random officers."

"Doesn't it?" he smirked.

"Ones with blonde hair."

"Don't forget the blue eyes," he called over his shoulder as they departed. 

The rest followed, dazed by the encounter. The famed Marshal from Goldenlake actually hung around Tusaine. And he brought along his Rider's Own. The Rider's Own were rarely spoken of, not because they did not do much, but because they were just 'civilians' that just happened to be employed by the Marshal to do some extraordinary things.

In the elevator, Neal nudged Keladry. "Psst. I don't think I've ever seen him that good-natured with a superior officer. He likes to trash people with status. Can you say… 'freaky'?"

If Joren heard, he didn't act like it. He was definitely in a better mood than they'd ever seen him. 

They got off at the second floor, this time passing through winding halls and walking single file past people walking in the other direction. All the persons they passed were low rank resident officers. Some had uniforms connecting them with a bomb squad, but otherwise, it was low key. After a short eternity of off white walls and the occasional door, they stopped in front of an open room. 

"Dom," Joren informally called. The others were left astounded that Joren had addressed someone by what they assumed was a first name. If it was, then maybe there was trend for everyone around Tusaine's districts to use first names, like Buri had. He ushered them into the computer lab impatiently. 

A man in his mid to late twenties swiveled around in a black office chair from where he sat in front of some elaborate DJPF database. He had broad shoulders, big hands, and wore his dark hair cut just under his ears. . His skin was slightly tanned, the sign of being outdoors all summer. For someone doing computer work, his appearance didn't hint at it.

"Hey," the man grinned. "If it isn't the punk ass I was so happy for Buri to send away."

"Hey," Joren said in the same fashion. "If it isn't the dorky ass who doesn't know when to shut up."

"Yes, that would be me," the man, presumably Dom, nodded with a cheeky smile. He looked past Joren and examined the others. "So what Qasim said was true. You _are_ baby-sitting third ranks."

"Third ranks!" Neal exclaimed angrily. "We're first class, buddy!"

Dom stood. He was exactly an inch taller than Neal was. He leaned forward and squinted at Neal's face. "Hmm… I guess you are. My mistake. That's what I get for trusting Qasim's word. He didn't even see you that well from the window." He sat down again at the chair. "I wonder where he is--"

"Dom, can we hurry this up?" Joren interrupted. "Just check their files and be done with it."

The computer technician nodded. "Uh-huh. You still have no people skills. Didn't expect much from the time you were gone." He started typing on the keyboard. "I heard about all that Immortals stuff. That seems like something Raoul would get us into, huh?" He shrugged. "Not that you would participate with Buri arguing with the Marshal."

"Hey, big mouth, just work the database already."

"Stop being so rude!" Keladry hissed.

Dom stopped and spun around to look at her, more deliberately than before. "Ouch. This one's got spunk. No wonder you wanted to come back home, Joren. Well, what's your name?"

She stepped back unconsciously. "Keladry Mindelan. Formerly 1B."

He faced his computer again. "Welcome to 1T, then. If Joren hasn't already mentioned me, I'm Dom. It's short for Domitan Masbolle." He held up his finger. "First rule: if you work for Buri or Raoul, you use first names. If Chief Flyn addresses you once by your first name, you're probably good enough for him, too. Don't expect it though." He contemplated something silently, then spoke again. "Think of him as, well… if your HQ Commissioner was already acting like he had a stick up his… um, yeah… well, make it a little bit more quick-tempered and there you got Chiefy."

"You've never even met Wyldon, Dom," Joren corrected. The blonde went over to the window, lifting the blinds to see out. The others began to relax. They also took available seats where there were.

Dom snapped his fingers. "Okay… so, Keladry, you have a nickname?"

"It's Kel," Cleon answered for her. "Or Tough Stuff."

"Cleon!"

Dom laughed. "Ah. I like it. One syllable. Kel. Okay! And you are Cleon… what?"

"Kennan," the redhead answered amicably. "And the last one is Nealan Queenscove. We all call him Neal."

"That's because I _hate_ Nealan. Reminds me of my aunt. Ugh."

"Squealin' Nealan is scared of his aunt. Always figured that for you," Joren murmured, disattached.

Dom looked fretful. "Wait. Are you related to Dr. Baird Queenscove?"

Neal blinked. "Um, yes."

"Wow!" Dom jumped up from his chair and grabbed Neal's hand. He started to pump it up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. "Hey! Dr. Baird was my godfather back when my dad was acquainted with him! You know what that makes us? Godbrothers!"

There was an awkward silence except for Dom's cheerful laughing. Eventually, Neal joined in, still a little confused, but happy to have found someone a new friend. Cleon, who was naturally happy, also grinned. Keladry smiled faintly, not really caught up in the moment since Dom still made her uncomfortable. And Joren didn't seem to notice anything Dom was doing.

"Well, sorry. 'Scuse me if I get a little rambunctious. You don't have anything to worry about. I'm probably the most optimistic and active one here in Tusaine. If you don't count Raoul."

Joren scowled. "Where the hell is Raoul? I want to talk to him. If I get placed under Flyn--"

"Then why don't you get placed with that Buri you worked for?" Neal cut in.

"Stop interrupting. I stopped working for Buri out as one of her operatives and did some solo stuff before Wyldon called me back. _That's_ why I don't want to get placed back with her now, dumb ass."

Keladry stood up. "Hey, cut that out now. We are all very tired from the train ride, so just take it easy, Stone."

"Sit down Mindelan. I don't have a beef with any of you. Except maybe Raoul if I can't find him."

Dom finished up replacing and storing their files he extracted from Tortall's database. He spun around one final time to put his hands on his knees and face them. "If you guys just got here today, then go settle in at the building. Low class officers don't stay there. They get their own places to live. It's just mostly the Rider's Own when we're in town, and a couple of Buri's people." He gasped. "Oh wait! The bomb squad lives entirely on the bottom floor. Don't disrupt them. You'll get blown away." He laughed at his own corny joke. What was embarrassing was that Cleon laughed, too.

Joren started for the door. "Dom, where are the rest of the… rag tags?"

"It's Lerant's turn to buy us dinner. He's bound to be in late. But the rest of us are at home. Welcome back, Joren."

"Whatever," he muttered and went out the door.

"It was nice meeting you, Dom," Keladry said cordially.

"You, too, Kel. Same to you, Cleon… and you, too, Neal. When you call your dad, tell him I said hi."

Cleon and Neal both waved. They left Dom to finish his work. Once again, they went down the elevator and through the metal detector. The woman at the desk double-checked their new identifications on their wrist pagers before letting them go outside.

Cleon caught up with Stone as they left the building with carts of their stuff. They heard from the attendant at storage that he had given the address of the apartment building to the luggage people. Some of their stuff had ended up going ahead of them to their new home. Joren kept up a brisk pace as he headed for the bus stop. Daine and the others had dropped them off and returned to their own home. They were left to catch a bus to the apartment building owned by the DJPF station.

"Hey, how come you never called us by our first names?"

"Because I don't, Kennan. Now stop bothering me." He marched a few paces away from the bus stop bench and leaned against a lamp post. Cleon meant to proceed pestering him, but Keladry yanked Cleon back by his collar. 

"Just leave him alone. He's known the people here for years. We've only known him for less than half a year. It might take a couple of years for him to ease up. I mean, this is him we're talking about."

"But sometimes, things happen that are more important in half a year than many years."

She didn't know what to make of that. So she just let Cleon lazily lean on her shoulder as they waited for the bus, and listened to Neal talk without really even listening.

~~

The place they were to live in was actually two buildings. A covered walkway on the second floor connected them. Large trees with the leaves already turning yellow and brown shadowed the elevated walkway and surrounded the area. The parking garage actually sunk into lower levels besides the building instead of stack atop another like they did at the station.

The building was peach colored, with ruddy colored roofs and doors. The windows toward the top of it were large and shown billowy white curtains. Most of the lights were on.

"It looks pretty nice. We should have invited the others over for our first night. Some kind of housewarming or something," Neal remarked as he scratched his scalp. 

Joren walked ahead, already standing in front of a door labeled A1, Building Manager. He rang the doorbell and waited for the intercom to turn on and someone to respond. Instead the door opened and a middle-aged man with unruly and floppy brown hair to stepped out. 

"What?"

"A civilian is the manager?" Cleon whispered, surprised.

"Aye, boy-o. I also be the handy-man, so you'd best shut your trap, ya hear?" he said in an accent of those of the coastal fisherman, also known for their carpentry. He noticeably rolled his R's and exaggerated vowels. His eyebrows were thick and set over stormy gray eyes. He looked them all up and down, as if sizing up a net of fish. "You the ones movin' in?"

"That's us, "Joren confirmed.

"Wrists," he demanded as he disappeared into the shadows of his apartment. They all held out their wrists. The man came back with a portable scanner and checked their identifications. All of them passed. He nodded his head just barely, and introduced himself. "Stefan Groomsman. Your stuff is 'ready here, so go on up. Here be your coding for the locks." He took their wrists again and scanned something into them. Keys were never used with lodgings of the Dominion Jewel Protection Force. Then he looked at a sheet on the wall in the shadows, telling them the apartment numbers.

"If that be all, my number's programmed into all the phones. Don't be wakin' me in the middle of the night for something a pansy can fix."

They all nodded their heads. Stefan shut the door on them, a slam, really. His was the only visible door with hinges and a doorknob instead of the usual. Maybe he'd preferred the old-fashioned door and had it changed himself. They didn't deem it something to linger upon, so they started up the elevator available just alongside the first building.

Someone was already there, about to enter as well. He was supposedly in his mid thirties, dark skinned and a nose that was blunt. Just looking at him, they could tell he was Bazhir. The Bazhir lived far south of Mithros. There had been a fair share of their kind in Tortall, but none of them had really thought about the multi-culture. 

"Qasim," Joren greeted. The other, Qasim, squinted at Joren first. Then a look of understanding overcame him.

"Ah. So Buri dragged you back?"

"No. You're always misinterpreting." When Qasim politely cleared his throat and cocked his head towards the rest of them, Joren stuffed his hands in his pockets and let out a deep breath. "Oh, uh, these are just some tagalong's that Wyldon wanted to get rid of. Sent all of us here."

The Bazhir nodded. "Ah. I see. Well, nice to meet you all. I am Qasim ibn Zirhud. Mostly armory, gun smithing, and mechanics for Marshal Raoul."

__

No wonder Joren gets along with him. He's a mechanic, Keladry thought. They introduced themselves. Qasim shook hands with them. They entered the elevator. 

"Which floor?"

"Third," Keladry answered. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking… Qasim, but what sort of people are in the Rider's Own?"

Besides Dom and Qasim, there were several others with special attributes. Not all of them were DJPF. Some had opted to completely be civilian, like Dom, and have a government label under the Feds. Others like Qasim were half and half. They'd had been at an Academy for certain things and contained a lifelong waiver to the DJPF special units. 

As they went up to the third floor and settled into their rooms which contained boxes and suitcases, Qasim asked them if they wanted to have dinner with the Riders, just to get acquainted. Joren objected at first. Then Qasim mentioned that during dinner, they could discuss the Motorcross tournament passing through Tusaine. That coerced him to join in the fun.

As soon as they set their stuff down, Cleon phoned Faleron to come join. He also called Roald and Lalasa, but they were tired and just wanted to sleep.

It was the forth floor that the Riders occupied. Qasim pointed out Dom's room, and then his own. 

"Did you live here, Stone?" Keladry asked. She and Joren were at the back of the group. They slowed down, trailing far behind the rest which filed into an open room. A person named Lerant lived there, if she heard correctly.

"No. I was never around here. Had my own place farther away." Shadows passed over his face, adding a haunting feeling to him. 

She nodded. "Oh."

They caught up with the rest of the group in Lerant Eldorne's apartment. It was a small place. There was a single couch, and a fold-away table meant to play card games on. The bed and bathroom were through one door and the kitchen is practically what you walked into from the door.

It was there that Keladry got to meet the rest of the Rider's Own.

Prosper Tameran used to work as a Private Investigator before he realized that he couldn't manage alone. That was when he met Raoul, who offered him a job as a prime researcher and analyst, as well as an extra gun when he was needed. There were other parts of the job that Prosper refused to comment about, but he was kind. And he was also thoughtfully-- but not shyly-- quiet. He reminded her of Roald in a way. He probably could be Roald if he got his hair cut, changed his voice, and then his wardrobe.

Yukimi noh Daimoru went to the Academy of Maren for the ballistics and bomb squad in the DJPF. She found that being a full officer was not what she wanted, though. After a few months, she received a few class credits, enough for a license as a demolition expert. Most often time, joked Qasim, Yuki just liked to blow things up. Yuki was what everyone called her. Her skin was pale and she had long ebony black hair that she tied up in a bun. Her beauty at first reminded one of a fragile glass statue, but she quickly destroyed that by showing up at dinner still in dusty coveralls and dirt-smudged hands. Qasim ordered her away to wash her hands. She proudly stuck her tongue out and went over to the sink. Keladry knew she would come to like this young woman, who looked to be about Cleon's age, 22.

She was purely traditional Yamani, from a very rare location in the Yamanis. Keladry and her friends had gone to the Yamanis, but not deep enough into the heartland. It turned out that purely traditional Yamanis were far to the east, past the cities and towns. This was much farther than where the on-the-run officers had fled.

Seaver Tasride was also another extra gun for Raoul when Prosper couldn't do the job. But mainly, Seaver was good with medicine. He'd also attended an Academy, but not the one in Tortall, nor the one in Maren. He became a qualified field medic, and learned lots of self-defense moves. 

The brown haired paramedic had a fascination with poisons, especially the ones that came from animals. Keladry supposed that explained the reason for bringing a snake. He kept it in a mini aquarium with the water drained out, but the colored gravel still in. 

She had politely held the snake container while Seaver helped Prosper to set the chairs. But she assured herself that she'd never want to do it again. Something about the way the snake's beady little eyes stared at her made her feel like it was reading her thoughts. The idea of a snake being psychic was as silly as if it had a turban, but she wouldn't tell anyone about it anyway.

And last but not least, was Fianola. No last name. She was merely Fianola, at the age of 18, a Maren Academy drop-out after one year. She had entered reasonably early for someone such as herself at the age of 16. She excelled at archaic weapons, though no one really carried a sword with himself or herself nowadays, so she was at a loss. One advantage the short but fiery girl had was that her father, so she claimed, had been a stunt driver, and also a stunt man. 

He taught her all the tricks to playing a crowd into believing she was hurt. And often, Fianola used this to her advantage. She was a tricky actress, but also a more fickle person. It didn't surprise Kel how quickly Fianola's mood changed. It was like Lalasa when the Carthakian woman was being romantic, or trying anyway with Roald's reluctant participation. 

Though they were the same young age, Fianola clearly still wanted to remain 16. She had a smile, which could only be described as adorably innocent. A good deceptive tool to use against some guy in a bar who wouldn't talk to the authorities, but maybe a kind understanding face. So Fianola drove the black van the Riders held up in. And she played to the crowd as the distraction, or the diversion. And she loved every minute of it.

The girl, for that was the only way to refer to her with her youthful personality, had olive skin, puppy dog brown eyes, and extremely curly hair that was no doubt difficult to tame. You could pick her out of a crowd, if she wasn't in disguise. Qasim whispered to her that she often was… especially in wigs, for an unknown reason.

Keladry couldn't believe how Raoul had managed to keep such an unorthodox group to himself without the government disapproving of the Marshal's choice. They were not DJPF, but perhaps that was better in a way. They weren't bound to uniform and easy identification. They weren't bound to many things that Keladry was. The more freedom they had, the better the group seemed to work. 

A buzz came from the door.

"That better be Lerant with the food," Yuki muttered as she answered it. And it was Lerant with the food, accompanied by Dom who had just come back from the station.

Lerant Eldorne was 23. His blond brown bangs flopped over his forehead, his hair short at the sides. He had good broad shoulders and a firm chin to go with his level eyes. In a way, they were like Dom's level eyes, well, when Dom wasn't laughing. As he and Dom entered, he held up two small white boxes with one hand and a plastic bag in his other hand full of them.

"I have Oriental takeout! Noodles over here, spicy chicken over there, the vegetables, the beef… the soup. Who wanted the soup? That's in that Tupperware looking thing," he announced. All the Riders surged around him, taking boxes and opening them to see what was inside. 

Later, she would learn that Lerant had applied for many spots in the DJPF, after graduating from a distant Academy with full honors. His aunt Delia, though, had been famous for betraying the famed Marshal Raoul Malorie and Advisor Alanna Trebond, as well as now Tortall Academy Headmaster Gary Naxen at Goldenlake. Delia was court-marshaled. No honorary discharge. Just sent to serve a life sentence at Olorun Penitentiary. Still, a lot of men and women of power would not allow Lerant to serve as a full officer though he had been all too qualified. So, they allowed him some privileges, but not anything official. 

Raoul Malorie had felt guilty that it was his aunt's association that did this to him. So, the Marshal brought Lerant into the Rider's Own as their best gunman, as well as finances. 

After most of them sat down, Kel was still sitting where she had been before, beside Neal and Cleon as they talked amongst themselves. She laced her own fingers together in her lap, content at watching the holo-screen broadcast that day's football game. Yuki, Dom, and Seaver had begun to cheer for their favorite team. It was Seaver and Yuki against Dom alone. 

A white box with a wire handle came into her line of vision. Kel blinked. "Huh?"

"Have some. I'm not much for this kind of teriyaki, but you're welcome to it," the young man named Lerant said. She gratefully took it. She also took the offered fork, since there was no way she could ever hope to use chopsticks as effortlessly as Yuki was. He smiled and went to sit by Dom so it was two fans against two other fans.

It was half an hour later when Faleron finally showed up. Cleon introduced him to everyone. The short former thief was accepted, hat and all. Then Cleon dragged his friend over to the couch to convince Neal that Veronica was superior to Betty, and that Archie didn't have a clue.

"Where are Joren and Qasim?" Keladry asked Dom after the night was over. The Riders gathered the trash into a bag and left it beside the door.

"Huh? Oh, probably in the garage, trading mechanic stories or whatever those guys do."

She looked at her pager and checked the time. "It's still early. I think I'll go down and check on my bike."

"Oh? You have one, too? You'll have to let me see it in the morning. But now, I think I'm going to crash here at Lerant's until I'm sure the holes in my windows are fixed and all the cold air from the AC isn't going out. Night before it was Prosper's turn to buy dinner, slept over at his place. Night before that, it was Qasim's." He shook his head regretfully. "I keep telling Stefan to fix it or else, but he's taking his precious time. Oh well."

Everyone was filing out the door. Lerant stayed back to put the table away and fold out the couch to form a bed for Dom. Keladry wanted to ask Dom something before she left. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"When do I meet the Marshal?"

Dom smiled. "Oh, so _that's_ how you are. Idolizing heroes, huh? Well, I can't blame you. When he's not being completely devilish and dastardly," here Lerant started laughing in the background, "then he's an awesome guy to work for. You'll probably meet him tomorrow. I know Joren wants to talk to Raoul, so you can go with him."

"In that case, I better ask Joren. Thanks. And goodnight!"

~~

Keladry passed Qasim on the way down. She bid good night to the Bazhir as well. He carried a bag with him that made all these clinking metal sounds as it moved. She only imagined what was in there. In the garage, she found Joren sitting on a stool, gazing intently on his Black Knight.

"Hey."

He looked up. "What?"

"I want to see Marshal Raoul tomorrow. When you go, come get me and I'll go with you."

Joren let out a deep breath. "I don't care. I won't be under Flyn's authority like the rest of you anyway."

"So, are you still going to work on my bike?"

"Sure. I need something to keep me occupied."

She came closer to him so she was staring at his bike alongside him. "You wouldn't need something to keep you occupied if you hung out with the rest of us." She faced him. "I saw how you acted with the Riders and with Buri today. You've known these people for years. Although you're not as warmed up to them as I was expecting a person with years of acquaintance to be, you're… well, I don't know." _Better with them than with us._

"Would you stop with the mushy stuff already? Why are you people obsessed with what's going on in my head?"

"Maybe it's because we have to live with what you do all the time," she retorted.

There went that attitude again. She didn't want it tonight. She had a good time up there on the fourth floor. It was a pleasant night with damp air under the cloudless sky. She wasn't going to spoil it with Joren's sharp personality. Why did she always have to hang around him when he was like this? Kel almost convinced herself that she was getting used to the verbal abuse. 

In fact, Keladry was going on a walk. It was a good idea to explore the area around so she had a good feel for her new home. The last thing she wanted was to ruin her first night in Tusaine spending it with the jerk who didn't know how to act with people.

"Can I borrow your jacket? It's windy out tonight." She briskly rubbed her bare arms.

He gawked at her like she was a green, glowing alien. "You're going out? Now?"

She nodded. "Why not? Come on, its not like you need the jacket right now. I'll give it back to you in the morning. Okay? Just come on already."

"Fine. I don't care." He gave up and shrugged off the black leather jacket. She put it on, smiling inwardly because for once, something belonging to Joren was _warm_, though it was a bit big on her just because he had broader shoulders and thicker arms and chest. In the back of her mind though, she thought of a blurry time when she had felt him be warm before. Was it at Galla? Or had it been more recently than that?

She left the garage, wandering the sidewalks of Tusaine like a wanderer, a vagabond. A few minutes passed of trees and pruned hedges, of random buildings and stores, of glass windows with signs on them. The city was so peaceful at night. Tortall was always awake. In Carthak, that was when Trouble woke up and did its mischief. But here in this huge city of Tusaine, everything was tranquil at night. Undisturbed by the dark shadows or the wavering moonlight.

She turned the corner, not looking where was going. Keladry bumped into something definitely solid. She stumbled back, surprised. It was a man, who didn't stumble back at all. He stood there with lifted eyebrows, probably not expecting the collision either. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you."

The man, whom she bumped into, was also in his twenties. He had a shock of spiky white hair-- it was dark outside, though. Maybe it was actually pale blond like Joren's. And though it was night, he still had sunglasses perched on his Elven narrow nose, with circular lenses and black frame. In the darkness, Keladry could see that his eyes were bright aquamarines. He wore a dark suit, with a starch white shirt and crisp black tie. 

"It's all right. I bump into people, too. Though I wasn't expecting it this late at night," he admitted with a slight chuckle. His voice. His voice was so smooth and rich. Keladry couldn't believe it with her own ears. It sounded a bit like Faleron-- with all its premeditated purpose and resolve. 

"Um, yeah. So, I'll be going." She started past him, unnerved by his casual and confident demeanor. This was the sort of things that happened in murder mysteries. She never read them, and she wasn't about to be a headline on a newspaper, killed by some psycho serial killer with white hair at his youthful age.

"Can I ask your name?" he called.

She frowned and stopped. He strode back in front of her, smiling just faintly as if he were pretending to be shy and a little ashamed at the question. She worked up the courage to speak.

"Why do you want to know my name?"

"Just your first name," he assured, holding up his black gloved hands in defense. "I was curious who would have a jacket that said… _Jackal_ just inside the collar." And he slowly pointed, so she would not use her reflexes and grab his wrist to toss him over her shoulder. She let out a deep breath. That was all. She'd noticed the weird word inside the collar before, just when Joren had come back. She had given no thought to it now.

"Oh. Um, Kel. My name's Kel." _First name can't hurt. Nickname at that…_ "The jacket's borrowed."

He smiled and bowed like a gentleman of a delegation. The way he gazed at her while he did this made her realize something. His eyes were slanted and almond-shaped, like Yuki's were. Only his name could confirm whether or not he was traditionally pure Yamani. 

"My name is Enishi Yukishiro. It was a pleasure meeting you, _Kel_."

She nodded. _There's something about this guy. It's sort of scary, but thrilling at the same time. I think he'd give Faleron a run for his money in the smoothness department. But it's not overly sleazy. Damn, I'd better leave._

"Uh-huh. Goodbye, Mr. Yukishiro."

"Yes. Farewell," he crooned gently and walked away. She stared after him for a while until his shadow was completely out of sight. Though the stranger had been shocking and a bit weird, she couldn't help but feel drawn to his charm. It wasn't like any charm though. It was just _consuming_, pure… _something._

Okay, get a grip. Strange guy at night comments on Joren's jacket. Drop the subject. Go home.

And she did. Her new bed was comfortable. But somehow, that didn't matter. Her dreams did. And she dreamt of the word Jackal, and she dreamt of the Rider's Own. And a big burly man who shook her hand, though she couldn't see his face. This was what she dreamed.

~~

Author:

Okay, so you're wondering… who's Enishi Yukishiro? He's not in the Tortall books. And you're right; he's not. I borrowed this amazing person from Rurouni Kenshin, a Japanese anime I dearly adore. I highly recommend that everyone email me who is even the _slightest bit_ interested in what he looks like and his background, according to the anime. My email is at top. You already know that. No, I don't have any problem answering a ton of emails. I _really wish_ someone would come up to me asking for a picture of the guy. He's cool. I like him.

Another thing: Seeing how this episode is super long... and people like long chapters…. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to start posting farther apart. I can't keep up this schedule the whole season, you know. So, please, please, bear with me. I need all the help and encouraging I can get. Ugh. 

And also: I'm sorry, I don't mean to focus on Joren so much. I mean to focus on Keladry, but since he's also like, her co-star, it kind of happens. It will be extremely tough not focusing on him all the time now that we're in his town, _his_ Tusaine. I'll shift over as much as I can. You want the absolute truth? I've dedicated this season to Joren, the next to another, and the ones after to the rest of the gang (the fourth season will kind of be, without the main characters and with people like the Rider's Own, maybe, or… maybe the adventures of the Three Stooges. **I DON'T KNOW**. I just know that each season will have different focuses. I guess. If I'm around that long.)

Remember to review! I love reviews!

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	4. Prodigy Wannabe

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

Episode 4: Prodigy Wannabe

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com, okay?]

Keladry rolled over in bed, yawning. She could feel the sunshine through the window warm her skin. Lazily, she stretched her arms overhead and decided she'd better get up and do some basic exercises before going out for a jog. So, she got up and neatly folded her bed sheets. Then she stumbled over to a still unpacked suitcase to get a change of clothes from the tank top and shorts she wore while sleeping.

__

What am I doing today? She asked herself. _Well, besides settling in some more._ As she found a picture of her family, she cringed. During this whole time, she'd forgotten to tell them about her relocation. Keladry looked around the bedroom. There were no COM screens. But there was a phone on the floor, connected to the wall by a single gray wire. 

She scratched her back as she sat down in front of it, picking it up and dialing. There was no better time than the present to phone home. Because of the time difference, she knew someone would be awake. 

Her family lived in a quaint neighborhood, house beside house. Her parents and her yet-to-leave-the-nest little brothers and sisters lived in a two-story Victorian with blue and gray everything. Her brother lived to the right of them. Anders was in a smaller brown house with his wife and family. Inness, Adalia, and Oranie-- three other of her older siblings all went to college on different scholarships, but they still officially lived at home with Piers and Ilane Mindelan. 

Now that she thought about it, Conal was the only one who didn't live with the family. He moved out and worked happily at a meat factory in the same town, though he studied by night for a profession in radio broadcasting. No one ever understood his decision, so risky and tiring. Keladry's parents had tried to talk him back into living at home dozens of times. But he stayed where he was, a tiny apartment in downtown. The son who visited every weekend to play with his little brothers and sisters, then give the dogs some trouble.

The earliest memory she had of her prodigal brother was Conal holding her off the balcony of her parent's home when she was five. This had stemmed into a phobia of heights for a long while, until she'd broken it herself at the Academy.

Now, this same brother answered the phone.

"Hello?" Conal's voice floated over the receiver.

"Conal?" Keladry said. "It's me. Hey, how are you?"

"Oh, hi. I'm fine, thanks." He moved some plates around. She could hear them clank together as he set them in the sink. "So, what's happenin', little sister?"

She pulled her knees to her chest. "Oh, a change of scenery is all."

He made a surprised noise. "You sound relaxed. Have you finally loosened up? After all these years, it takes that thing with the Immortals to loosen you up?"

"Yeah, and I'm still a little disappointed that no one could make it to the ceremony afterwards. Advisor Trebond was there. Her husband gave a speech, you know," she said tartly. "You should have come. You're supposed to be my family."

Conal's voice dropped lower. "You know Mom and Dad don't have the money. And they won't accept charity from anyone but you. And even then, you're not to blow your whole paycheck on plane tickets to haul all of us over there."

His words made her feel a bit guilty. She started winding the phone cord around her index finger. "Sorry."

"It's okay. So, anyway, what are you talking about… a 'change of scenery', hmm?"

"I've been transferred to Tusaine. If Adie or Oranie have any mail for me, they can send it when I give them the new address." She stood up and carried the phone with her in the crook of her arm. Then she went over to a cardboard box with a pocket file inside. She picked up a scrap of paper with sloppy handwriting. "Do you want the address?"

"Um, sure. Let me get something to write it down with," he answered. She could hear the rustle of papers in the background. He returned within a few seconds. "Okay, go ahead."

She recited the information dully. "Now, tell me, Conal. What are _you _doing at home?"

He laughed. "It's the weekend, genius. I came to see the little ones. Anders is taking Lachran and the rest of his kids camping, too, so I'm to watch the dogs since Tilaine doesn't want to. She wanted to go, but she had some board meeting she couldn't miss."

"Oh. Tell her I said 'hi'."

"I will. And um, I'll tell Mom and Dad where you are now."

She nodded though he couldn't possibly know that she was doing that over the phone. "Okay. Thanks."

"You're welcome. So, I'll talk to you later?"

"Sure. Later. Bye, Conal."

"Bye, Kel."

She hung up. After a few seconds, she set the phone down and collapsed on her bed. Talking to Conal felt like she was talking to a stranger. Had she truly alienated her family so much that even a conversation with her own brother felt like an unwanted chore?

__

My birthday's coming up in a couple of weeks. I wonder if they'll remember. I mean, I do call when someone has a birthday over there. _They should remember mine._ At that thought, she suddenly realized what else today was besides the day she met Raoul.

Faleron's birthday.

He had mentioned it last night, and Cleon had already gotten him a gift. Keladry, who did not now up until that evening, was already too tired to think of any present she could find the next morning.

__

I could jog to a gift store in the mini mall next door. Maybe they'll have something.

She started to drop the idea of exercising and moved on to the bathroom. While brushing her teeth, she glanced at the space beside her. No shoving for sink space. This was her room alone. Keladry didn't know why she thought of it, but it just stayed with her like an annoying itch she couldn't reach. 

~~

"You're coming to visit in two days? Your Mom said yes?" Faleron asked. He watched his cousin's head bob up and down in confirmation.

"Yup. I'm sorry I couldn't get there today, but I'll definitely be there to celebrate a belated birthday with you on Tuesday!" Merric Hollyrose grinned. He was 17. 

There was a seven years difference between the two of them, but that didn't stop them from being very close. When Faleron lived with his aunt and uncle, home from boarding school, Merric would copy everything he did. He was his younger cousin's role model for reasons that only little children knew. This always persuaded Faleron to be a good, moral person with little juvenile eyes watching his every move, filled with awe and adoration. 

"How are you getting here from Corinth?"

"A _bunch_ of shuttle buses."

"How long will you be staying?"

"At least a week."

Faleron nodded. He scratched his chin. "I'll see if I can get some time off from Ms. Sarrasri. She's really nice about letting me off work, considering how many times I ask her to." He shrugged. "Anyway, you must be careful on your trip. I don't want anything happening to you that could have been prevented."

"I know, I know. Because I'm your favorite cousin," Merric drawled, though with ironic laughter in his eyes.

"You're my _only_ cousin, dummy," the older corrected. His hand hovered over the disconnect key. "Alright now. Off with you. I'll see you in two days. You have my address?"

"Yes."

"You'll call me an hour before you get here?"

"Yes," he sighed.

"You know my number?"

Merric started laughing. "Yes! I'll be fine! I'll see you in two days, coz."

"Bye, Merric."

"Bye." 

Faleron disconnected. He put the COM screen down on his coffee table. Now he had to clean up his apartment and do some overtime within the next two days to make up for going on a week vacation again to have fun with Merric. He yawned and started clearing away his single sofa, strewn with clothing and things from his moving boxes. 

He stepped over other cardboard boxes in his living room, still unpacked. Usually, he was never this disorganized, but he'd been focusing on helping his employer settle in. After all, if it weren't for Daine, he'd have no job and would probably support himself off gambling. And there was always a chance he'd slip up. 

That kind of money wasn't stable. Sometimes, these places were shut down. Sometimes, people with bad intentions would go crazy and shoot everyone. Things happened. Strange things happened. He understood that though he would always prize that risky roll-the-dice life, it wouldn't be healthy.

And it certainly wouldn't be a good example to Merric. Faleron thanked God everyday that his cousin never knew that he had been the leader of a gang of thieves, or that he'd once killed a man in self-defense while in a home that he shouldn't have been in. _Does he still look up to me? I mean, he probably doesn't now. He's a teenager. Hell, he's seventeen years old. He's not the little guy that used to follow me around._ _He probably looks up to people in his own age group that he considers cool. I mean, I wouldn't be cool. That girl Cleon was seeing at the hotel… she called me dorky._

There was a knock on the door. Then the intercom buzzed.

"Dude! It's me!"

"Coming," Faleron called. He walked around the boxes and pressed the button for the door. Cleon entered with another gift about the size of a toaster oven. The wrapping paper was blue with orange and green balloons. The redhead set it down on the coffee table after clearing away some trash.

"You already gave me that black baseball cap last night," he frowned. 

Cleon shook his finger at him. "Not any black baseball cap. That's Northwatch Knights, man. They're an awesome team. You better wear it. That's the second hat I gave you, just remember that."

"I will."

The taller man pointed to the gift. "That's from Roald and Lalasa. Both of them are early up and at the office with Ms. Sarrasri. Black and Blue Boy asked me to give it to you."

Faleron stared at him, not accusingly, but thoughtfully. "When did you give him that nickname?"

"Don't you remember? It was in Scanra--" he stopped. "Never mind."

"It's okay, you know. You can say Scanra in front of me. I don't get depressed anymore." He forced a smile. "Besides, Merric would notice. Did I tell you that he's coming to visit in two days?"

"No," Cleon shook his head. "So, what's he like?"

Faleron looked down. "I wouldn't know. Haven't seen him for a while." He chuckled. "Okay, okay. Enough of that. Let's see what Mr. Black and Blue and his girlfriend have decided to give me."

He tore through the wrapping paper, but gently removed the white ribbon bow. It was one of those stick-on kinds that he often saw in card shops. He moved it around in his hand before unexpectedly slamming it onto Cleon's forehead where the adhesive made it stay.

"Aww, now that's not nice," Cleon said, crossing his eyes to see it. He sighed and tried to peer over his friend's shoulder at the gift. "So what is it?"

"An electric card shuffler," Faleron chuckled. He held the contraption up to the light for inspection. "Well, this is definitely something I need." He handed it to Cleon, who then took his turn examining it. "For crying out loud, take off that ridiculous bow."

He moved out of reach before his friend could come near it. "Hey, hey! You're the one who stuck it there, so it's staying there!"

"You look stupid."

"Yeah, well, I happen to like it."

Faleron nodded sardonically. "Of course. My mistake."

~~

Keladry went to Joren's room, ringing the doorbell and calling over the intercom. When she got no response, she checked her watch. It was still early. And she'd just been to the mini-mall next door to get Faleron's gift. He couldn't have left already for the station, could he?

"Need something?" a voice behind her, asked.

She straightened up in her starched uniform and slowly pivoted on her right foot to face the speaker. She would have breathed a sigh of relief if it were anyone else. But it happened to be Seaver, the medic, with a long thin green snake hanging from his neck. She eyed it warily before stepping back.

He smiled. "Oh, don't worry. He's not poisonous, or I'd be on the floor right now going through convulsions. I keep everything poisonous in containers. Trust me. But would you believe how much some snake venom sells? It's some kind of medical thing." He shrugged. "I'm still doing the research."

"Okay," Keladry said uneasily. She relaxed a bit. "What are you doing on this floor anyway? Do you take that creature on walks?"

"Of course not. I'm just using this floor's vending machine since the one on ours is broken. Do you think they still have any Butterfinger BB's left?" He seemed to be ignoring the fact that he had a snake around his neck. It didn't mind, and just stayed where it was, coiled around him.

They walked down the hall to check the status of the vending machine. As they went there and Seaver was getting his candy, she asked him of Joren's whereabouts. Seaver tore open the top of the bag before bending down to get his change from the slot. And then in casual terms, he answered. He thought he heard a motorcycle leave the garage early that morning, but it could have been Qasim, too. 

"He left me behind. I knew it," she muttered.

Seaver offered her some of his candy. She accepted, but still retained her angry mood, under a blank mask. He spoke with one cheek slightly bulging with candy. "You could ask Fianola for a ride in the van. Don't have to get a taxi or anything."

"Oh, that's okay. I have a motorcycle of my own, too." She paused and went pale. "Unless he already started working on it!" She started for the elevator. "Sorry I have to run like this! See you later!"

He waved. "Don't worry about it! Later, Keladry!"

~~

She practically leapt into the elevator when the doors parted. Keladry jabbed the button for the bottom floor a billion times. As an afterthought, she pressed the Doors Closed button. The elevator doors closed and she began her descent. She'd always dreaded the sensation she got in the elevator going down at a controlled rate and area. It didn't feel natural. It was more natural to jump out the third story window and feel the air against your face, instead of stay in an elevator-- where the only ways that indicated you were moving was the floor number changing above the doors, and then the odd sensation.

The elevator opened. She sprinted out and around the building corner to the garage. She skidded down the decline of the underground garage and reached into a power box to turn a light on. Her bike was parked in back of that first level. Here, Keladry started to calm down. She saw it was whole from afar. 

But as she got closer, she saw a spread out blanket on top of a bench. And then there was a stool, and a wrench. Her hope wavered. She sighed and leaned against a concrete support. She was too late. 

He'd already started working on it. There were a few boxes of things she only guessed were spare parts he'd not needed. She was supposed to be paying him for this, but all of sudden, she wanted _him_ to pay for it. And to top that off, he'd stranded her here on purpose. He knew she had wanted to see the Marshal Raoul Malorie. He didn't even seem to care the night before when she asked him.

And she still had his jacket. And in that case, she'd might as well keep it for a while to spite him. Keladry would wear it all the time-- to the station, around the apartment building. And she wouldn't give it back for at least a week. 

__

I can ask Fianola for a ride, just like Seaver said. I don't have to be such a sore loser about it. She paused. …_Not that I lost at anything. But all the same... _

She trudged back upstairs, meeting Seaver where she left him. He told her which room on the fourth floor that was Fianola's and went downstairs himself to mill around the second floor walkway. Loud music came from within the youngest Rider's apartment. No doubt Fianola was already awake and moving around with all the energy that a girl like her had.

Keladry rang the intercom doorbell, wondering if it would even be heard. To her surprise, it was. Fianola, clad in a big T-shirt and cut-off denim shorts, invited her in. It looked like the girl was vacuuming.

"So, what can I help you with?" she asked while putting the vacuum away.

Keladry's eyes wandered. She looked at all the pop star posters and decorations on the walls. Fianola noticed her amazement and grinned.

"I like the same stuff as any teenage girl. Can't help it," she shrugged.

Keladry snapped to attention. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if you could give me a ride to the station. My bike's being worked on, and I'm not sure about the taxis around here. They all seem--"

"Weird? All seem like bad drivers? Uh-huh," Fianola nodded as if she'd heard it a million times. Keladry supposed everyone in the Rider's Own got a ride from the young girl rather than take public transportation.

Fianola had Keladry wait while she got dressed in something decent to walk around in public in. It was sunny out, and so the girl wore khaki shorts and a short sleeved red shirt with a brand name logo on it. Walking out the door of her bedroom, she twirled the keys around on one finger.

Keladry stood up, feeling out of place in her uniform. Her companion noticed.

"Ah. Number one reason I dropped out," she told her in a stage whisper as they left the apartment. Fianola laughed. "Honestly, though. There are some things better left to other people. I'm not cut out to do that DJPF stuff. I'd be stuck as a traffic officer or something because I'm honestly not into getting promoted to second class or anything as great as that."

"Oh."

They entered the garage and got into the front of the Rider's van. 

"Sometimes, I hate driving this tank thing, but at least I've got a permanent role here. Stable," she stated. 

Keladry nodded. "Stability is always good."

Fianola pulled out of the garage, whistling as she went up the incline into the fresh air. She was a good driver, forgetting to consider all her time spent driving whenever Raoul wanted to haul the Riders somewhere. As they drove to the station, she explained to Keladry the kind of things the Riders did. 

One time, Raoul had to capture a fugitive who had yet to take the stand in court. The guy had been crafty and disappeared into a national forest. There were swamps, too. Fianola shuddered as she retold the event. Luckily for her, Prosper had been willing to carry her, as they had to wade a little above knee deep in the mud and water. Seaver had been having the time of his life, observing animals, checking his databases to identify them.

"There are a bunch of things we did that still make me laugh. This one time, a guy was hiding out in a circus audience. And well, let's say that he got into the center ring and we had to tango with some indolent clowns to get to him."

Keladry smiled appreciatively. Her driver was full of enthusiasm.

"So," Fianola started. She lowered her voice. "Do you know Cleon's friend well?"

"Huh?"

"You know, that guy with the hat."

"Oh!" Keladry exclaimed. "Faleron King. Yeah, I know him well. We _all_ know each other pretty well."

The younger girl grinned sheepishly. "He's cute, huh?"

"What did you say?" Keladry's eyes were wide as saucers.

Fianola giggled. "I think he's cute. Does he have a girlfriend?"

The first class officer could have burst out into laughter, but she didn't because it would have been disrespectful and rude to both Faleron and Fianola. So, she scratched the back of her neck nervously and held down a smile. "No, he's single. But can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why?"

The girl shrugged. "He's short."

This time Keladry did laugh-- but just a little. It came out as a smothered snicker. "You're attracted to shortness?"

"I'm attracted to the fact that he wouldn't have to bend down to kiss me. I'm short, too, if you hadn't noticed." They turned into the parking garage for Tusaine DJPF station; district T. The bottom level was already filled, so they went to the next one up. 

Keladry took the chance to study Fianola. She was young and young at heart. Would she be a good match for Faleron? He was often making mock insults to his friends, things he didn't really mean, but they often scared off new acquaintances. And he was always so crafty in his conversations. He had ambitions and goals. Fianola didn't seem like the type to pay attention to ambitions and goals. She was happy with her share and didn't want any more.

They got out of the van. Fianola locked the door, then slammed it shut.

"You don't have to come with me or anything."

"Oh, it's cool," Fianola waved her off. "I wanted to see Raoul anyway. He borrowed some CDs from me and I feel like listening to them." She shook her head. "Had no idea he was into pop."

__

Raoul Malorie? THE Raoul Malorie listened to pop? Keladry hid her surprise. They entered the station and rushed through the metal detector. This time, Keladry made sure not to have worn anything that could have set off the detector, like she did yesterday. Fianola waved cheerfully to a woman at the front desk and skipped toward the elevator.

On the third floor, Keladry was happy to see she hadn't missed the Marshal.

Outside of Chief Flyndon Whiteford's office, three men and one woman sat. The woman was Buri, eating a ham and cheese sandwich. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of something in a white cylinder. Joren was standing beside her desk. His arms were folded across his chest and his expression set in stone-- as it usually was. The other two men were those Keladry had not seen before.

The first stranger had red-brown hair, curly at top and short on the sides. His brown eyes were narrowed under thin brows, and his small lips curled downward in a frown. He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his index finger. The man was stocky, but did not appear so as he sat sunken in another chair. 

The second man was standing like Joren was, with his arms folded across his chest. He laughed heartily at something Buri muttered, which derived scowls from both Keladry's partner and the sitting stranger. Kel could definitely guess that the standing man with such a vibrant presence had to be Raoul Malorie.

"Oh, come off of it, Flyn. He'll be signed under you, but he can tag along with Buri, or me if you're so fidgety about it," Raoul said in a deep, resonating voice.

"And I'm to be stuck with the rest of them? Wyldon would _not_ send me three first class officers-- recognized by the media as heroes-- unless there's something wrong with them." The man that Keladry presumed was Flyn, seated in a chair spoke this.

Buri scoffed. "Wyldon thinks something's wrong with all his officers."

Joren cleared his throat. "I'm not sure if you've all noticed, but I _am_ standing here."

"Well, what do you know," Raoul replied sarcastically. "You are. All right then, Joren, what do you have to say?"

At this point, Fianola yanked Keladry behind a file cabinet before they were seen. Keladry couldn't help it. She wanted to hear what her partner had to say about the rest of them. No doubt, it was probably going to be dripping with insults. Or maybe no comment at all.

The blonde shifted his weight to his right foot, one hip subtly jutting out. "First off, I was never one of his officers--"

"Hmm… we can argue that later, but go on." Raoul made a small gesture with his hands.

Joren glared at him. "The rest of them are decent. They can be bumbling idiots most often times, but when they get their act together, they can accomplish their missions. It's not that they're bad officers," he was speaking so low of voice, Keladry thought he was very hesitant to say his next sentence. "It's just that Wyldon can't stand their antics when they're being normal people, that he just wants more vacation from them."

Keladry was genuinely astonished that Joren hadn't taken the opportunity to make her or the other guys look bad in front of their new boss. She smiled a little, and then Fianola nudged her. Kel shook her head; silently mouthing it was nothing.

"Knowing him and his migraines, that doesn't surprise me at all," Flyn said. "I can sympathize."

"We know you can," Raoul and Buri chorused.

Fianola snickered. She clamped her hands over her mouth and shook her head. Then she nudged Keladry out from behind the file cabinet. Kel stumbled, quickly catching her step. She regained a dignified gait. Buri put down her sandwich as the young female officer approached.

"Ah, and who have we here? The girl from yesterday?"

Joren took Raoul's glance as a signal for introduction. He obliged willingly. "Oh. Uh, Raoul, that's Mindelan." He looked her up and down. "What the hell are you doing with my jacket?"

"What the hell made you start working on the bike _today_?" she retorted. To rub his nose in it, she hugged his jacket tighter around her. 

Buri smiled slyly. "It's about time, Joren."

Raoul and Flyndon caught on. "Oooohhh…. So that's it."

Joren scowled. "You're all insane. Stop that childishness. You're superiors, so act like it."

"Then in that case, we order you to stuff it and have a sense of humor," Raoul chuckled. "We were only teasing you, Joren. Why, I don't believe _I_'ve ever gotten to touch that jacket, let alone wear it. Bravo, Mindelan!" He paused. "That was your name, wasn't it?"

She shyly nodded. Legends like Raoul Malorie weren't supposed to be this easygoing. Well, now she thought of it, she had said the same thing for Alanna Olau Trebond. And that hadn't been right. So, maybe it was possible that Raoul could be just as normal as she could.

Chief Flyndon held out his callused hand. "I'm sorry I was not in at the moment to greet you new ones yesterday. The big oaf here dragged me out to eat. Oh, and to help avoid his visiting mother."

Raoul groaned. "Did you have to mention her? I was having a perfectly happy morning and here you go talking about--"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Buri scolded. She pulled out another chair for Keladry. "You're going to make her think the whole T district is a bunch of lunatics in blue striped ties."

"This happens to be sapphire, Bur--"

"Shut up, Raoul. Just shut up."

Keladry could hear Fianola burst out into laughter behind her. Raoul tilted his head to get a better look. When he saw Fianola's curls peeking out over a desk that was three isles away, he whistled like he were calling a trained dog. Slowly, the girl stood up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sorry. Couldn't help it."

Raoul folded his hands behind his head. "It's just so hard to find good help these days. Eh, Joren?"

"Nothing ever changes," Joren grumbled. "Everyone is crazy around here."

They spent the next half an hour, talking. Mostly, it was Raoul and Flyndon arguing-- and Buri telling them off. Every now and then, Joren would insert a mocking comment and Keladry would make one right back. If one replaced all their uniforms and business attire with regular civilian clothing, no one could have guessed their occupations. They were acting _that _normal. 

Finally, Chief Flyndon had to leave to take care of some business. He told Keladry that he'd look for some minor job for her to work on, if she was so set on starting work right away. Things had gotten a lot quieter the last year. There was nothing for first class officers to do. And then, Flyndon promised Joren some consideration for a transfer, but he couldn't promise anything. This suited the blonde just fine and so he left.

This left Raoul, Buri, and Keladry alone to talk. Fianola had wandered down to the floor below to keep Dom company in the computer lab. He worked early hours and late hours, so it seemed. It sounded boring, but if Dom had any complaints, he never voiced them. He didn't even look like he was bothered by it.

"So, you have a first name, Mindelan?" Raoul asked. 

"Keladry," she replied. Dom was right about the first name thing. "I think I'd better be going. My friend's birthday, you see."

"Of course. See you around Keladry!"

She returned the smile nervously and left. _I really have to stop being so jittery around all these important people I've never met before. I mean, I met Advisor Trebond during some weird circumstances, but afterwards, she was really nice. And I've known Gary Naxen as Headmaster in my last year of the Academy. The President wasn't all too bad to be around, even IF at the time he was nearly bleeding to death. And now I've met Marshal Raoul Malorie. No biggie._

She imagined kicking herself while going down the elevator. She was starting to sound like Cleon. No biggie.

~~

Cleon, Faleron, and Neal were watching a movie and snacking on potato chips when she rang the doorbell. Keladry didn't mean to come so late in the afternoon, but things had prevented her from coming earlier. As soon as she'd gotten home from the station, the Riders had enlisted her help.

When they first asked her for aid, she wondered if it was a huge operation-- the kind of thing that the Rider's Own did. Perhaps they had to find a fugitive somewhere in Tusaine, wanted for the multi-murders of a socialite family. Or maybe it was something more serious than that.

It wasn't. 

Seaver had brought home a couple of white mice to feed some of his more hungry reptiles. One of them got out of the box and got loose around his apartment. Afraid that it might sneak out and cause Stefan Groomsman grief with his other mouse-hating tenants, all the Riders helped look for it.

It was certainly a ridiculous sight with so many young adults crawling around on hands and knees. Keladry wished that reality weren't so banal and there really had been some major crisis to deal with. But no. They had mice problems.

An hour and a half later, the mouse was found when it crawled up Prosper's pants. 

Back to the present, Keladry had hastily wrapped her present for Faleron in some white packaging paper she found in Seaver's apartment while looking for the mouse. It was a badly done job, with clear adhesive tape everywhere. She was grateful that the birthday boy didn't mind. He smiled jovially, cracking a joke about it-- one that if it had come from anyone else, she would've been angry, but from him, she accepted.

"Come on in, Kel. You want something to eat?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I'm fine." She sat down beside Neal, who gave her a friendly hug. "So, what have you guys been up to?"

"Nothing much. Just hanging around," Neal replied. "Buddy-boy here doesn't want a big party for his birthday, so we're just taking it easy." He offered her the bag of potato chips. She declined.

Faleron got some more soda for his friends. He asked Keladry if he could open it after the movie. She responded that it didn't matter. So, he sat on the floor again beside Cleon, whose attention was on a weird puzzle in his lap. It was Neal's present, a challenge for Faleron that the intelligent young man had solved in record time. Now the redhead tried his luck, and became absorbed in the task.

"I met Raoul Malorie today," she said to no one in particular. Though she usually kept things like these to herself, she was in the mood to share her day's ventures.

"Really?" Cleon looked up from Neal's puzzle.

She stared at him with unblinking eyes.

He frowned. He reached up to brush back some bangs from his face, all of a sudden insecure with his appearance. Did he have a dab of food on his chin or something? "What's wrong?"

"Why do you have a bow stuck to your forehead?"

~~

Two days later:

"I'm not that far now."

"Okay, I'll come by the bus station then. See you in a bit." Faleron waited for a goodbye from Merric before disconnecting the line. The time had come. His cousin was arriving in Tusaine, and Faleron was going to find out if things were still the same between them.

Faleron had cleaned up most of his new apartment by now. All the remaining packaging materials had been piled to the left of the door leading to the hallway. His new home still lacked decoration or any sense of unique recognition, but he didn't mind. He was bound to be out all the time anyway, so he need not look at them. The only people who ever came over were Cleon, Kel, and Neal. He didn't have to worry about their approval. 

An extra mattress had been loaned to him from the manager, just that one time. Faleron had bribed the man, whose policy for visitors was usually unreasonable. He was just lucky he'd won some extra money downtown to rent the mattress.

There was some extra food in the refrigerator and pantry. Faleron made sure his mirrors were clean, and whatever surfaces around the apartment were polished. Naturally, he was a neat person. But settling in had not been as organized as he'd hoped with Ms. Sarrasri's busy schedule keeping him away. 

He secretly hoped it received Merric's approval. Even if his cousin was grown up now, Faleron still felt that he had to please him, show him his older, mature cousin... responsible and law-abiding. 

"_Now _I am. Not those lost years. Just now," he said confidently to himself. Then a panicked thought crawled into his mind. What if Merric was in his rebellion years? The years a teenager was generally acting bad, not because he was, but because he was experimenting in lifestyles. Would that make Faleron look like a dork if he was all starched-collar-proper and not mischief-and-trouble-cool?

__

He's your cousin. Probably the closest relative you have. He'll like you no matter what. Where the hell did all your self-esteem go, Faleron? he asked himself.

__

Scanra. It went to Scanra and shot itself in the head in a jail cell, waiting for vindication.

"Wow. Didn't know I became so morbid since then," he muttered. Things never were the same after Scanra.

The com screen beeped. He walked around the sofa to pick it up from the table. He was met by a blank screen. It had to be someone using a phone. He'd been getting that frequently. Cleon said he meant to buy a com screen that week, but Keladry wasn't planning on getting one soon, and neither was Neal.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's Lerant, from the Riders. We met a few days ago?"

"Oh, right. I remember you."

"Yeah, I was wondering if Cleon was over there with you. You know, because you guys hang out so much."

Faleron, though he didn't need to, made a sweeping look across his apartment. Maybe the redhead had snuck in and was hiding in the closet. He laughed inwardly at his own absurdity. "Um, no. He's not here. Why, what did you need from him?"

"Oh, I just wanted to borrow some stuff from him." There was a brief gap filled with silence. "Hey, if you're not doing anything, you can come hang out with the Riders."

"Oh, thanks. My cousin's visiting, so I'm not sure."

Lerant chuckled. "Well, bring him. We're just doing what we do best when we're off duty: sitting around one of our apartments and watching football. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure. Bye."

They hung up. Faleron got up and grabbed his hat. He held the battered thing in his hands. It was old. Cleon _had_ bought it in that thrift store, so he remembered. Perhaps he'd better wear it next time. So, he chose the baseball cap with the Northwatch Knights logo on the front. It was a perfect fit. He tried to curve the brim some more with his hands-- the way style dictated, but decided to leave it like that until later.

That day, Roald had let him borrow the car that he usually chauffeured Daine in. The councilwoman wasn't going anywhere. She'd been stuck with paperwork the whole time, or talking via com screen with Numair. Her car was a four door black hover car. Leather interior, power steering-- power everything-- but it was only the best for a council member. 

"Too bad it's just for today."

He drove to the greyhound bus station, parked in a safe place where no one would back into him and give the car _that did not belong to him _a dent. It was increasingly weird how many times he'd seen that over the course of time he'd been here.

So, he settled down on a metal bench to wait, tugging at his cap. He watched the electronic signs for arrivals and departures. Every now and then, he checked his watch, Keladry's gift and also one of the more expensive manufacturer's styles. He wondered if it was her first-class paycheck money that she was splurging on him.

Finally, his cousin's bus arrived. Faleron stood up, hands in pockets, trying to see over a crowd in front of him. The station was full of people this busy weekend. People coming back from vacation, or leaving to go home from vacation. Chatter and footsteps, and sounds of the buses' lurching away from the curb like tired metal monsters that wished to sleep in their cozy garages.

He couldn't see over the crowd of course. Not by much. He stood on tip-toe, granting him a couple more inches worth of height to see. It hurt his toes, in the shoes he was in, so he stopped. He could barely see the passengers step down from the humongous hover buses. 

"Fal! Over here!" a familiar voice called. Faleron squinted, seeking out the face he expected to see. He quickly analyzed the situation he was in within fractions of seconds. He was in a crowd. Merric could obviously see him, but he coudn't see Merric. The people jostling around him were moving like a river, dragging him further away. If he called out, Merric still probably wouldn't be able to get to him.

__

Maneuver over to that post, stand on top of the bench, and look for him that way.

"Problem solved," he said and started shoving his way through the throng. He eventually caught hold of the post he spotted before and stood atop a bench which was currently seating three people. The three people moved over as far as possible. All of them looked at him as if he were a lunatic.

"Merric!" he called with his hands cupped about his mouth.

"Over here!"

An arm waved frantically from above the heads of strangers. Faleron lifted up his cap, so the brim didn't block his view. He finally spotted his cousin on the other side, near the pay phones.

"Stay right there!" Faleron got down from the bench and made his way to the other side again. When he was finally standing beside Merric, he had to look up a bit. He sighed. "You grew."

"Not by much," his cousin protested. 

"You're taller than me," Faleron pointed out.

"But still," Merric shrugged. He set down his bags and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's been a while. Happy Birthday! How are things?"

"Good," Faleron nodded. As they walked out to the parking lot, he took the time to study his younger, but taller cousin. Thin blue and white plaid shirt, dark blue jeans, and clean appearance. He would never understand the complete look of trust and happiness on his younger cousin's face, but he was glad it was there. It showed that he was silly to think things would be awkward between them. Nothing had changed at all.

Except now, maybe, Merric was taller.

"I like your hat," his cousin commented. "Northwatch Knights are great. You watch their games?"

"Not really. I work lots of hours now." It wasn't a complete lie. He'd never watched a complete baseball game ever, but he did work lots of hours. Merric didn't have to know that his excuse for working had nothing to do with his sport spectator habits.

They loaded his bags into the borrowed car and got in.

"Wow, this is nice. When did you get it?"

"Borrowed from a friend actually. Haven't been here long enough to get a car yet. I'll get one, eventually." At least that was truth. Merric didn't seem to mind either way. He was enjoying the feeling of leather seats and functioning air conditioning. 

Faleron pulled out of the parking lot and into some mild traffic that was breaking up. "We'll go home first. I'll show you where you can put down your stuff. I don't really know what to do tonight."

His cousin fiddled with the radio, finding some catchy song and turned the volume down enough for them to talk comfortably without raising their voices. "I don't care. I'm fine with whatever you want to do."

__

Lerant did invite us over for the football game. "Have you heard of the Rider's Own?"

Merric gasped. "No way. You know them? I hear about them on the news all the time!" He grinned. "They work for Marshal Raoul Malorie, right? That guy who was famous for that..."

"Goldenlake scandal," Faleron finished. "Yeah, I haven't met him yet, but the Riders are neighbors of my friends, and they invited me over. Some of my friends are probably over there, too."

"That's cool. I can't wait to see the kind of friends _you _keep."

For some reason Merric had yet to realize, his older cousin cringed.

~~

"Hey! Ice Cream Pants!" Cleon shouted as soon as Faleron entered Lerant's apartment. The redhead jumped over the couch he was sitting on to stagger to the door. He excitedly extracted a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to the confused former thief.

Merric stood by, smiling slightly, still taking in the whole scene. He pretended not to notice the odd greeting Cleon had given his cousin, and figured it was some inside joke. The Riders were all crowded around the holo screen, everyone either eating flame broiled burgers or the salad that Fianola had made. All of them seemed to be avidly cheering for one team or another, often arguing with each other who was going to win.

Faleron tried to flatten out the paper against the wall. "What the hell is this?"

Cleon, abashed, rocked back and forth impatiently on his heels. "I got really bored today at the station, waiting for Chief Whiteford to give me a crappy job, so I got to thinking about Kalasin... and next thing I knew, I was writing a poem for her." He bit his lip and tried to read over his best friend's shoulder. "So...? What do you think?"

The shorter man snickered. "Sunrise? You called her _Sunrise?"_

Cleon gasped sharply. He gnawed gently on his lower lip. "Do you think I should have called her Teardrop?"

"Uh... no, Cleon. No, I don't think you should."

"Why not?"

He took him aside and whispered. "Because she's going to laugh until she chokes? Remember, she's a really, _really _bitchy spy that works for George P. Swoop."

"She's not bitchy. We were just all under a lot of pressure in the underground Immortal habitat is all," Cleon argued. He snatched the paper from him. "And if you want to make fun of my poem, fine! I'll make fun of _your _poetry!"

"I don't write poetry."

Cleon tried to shake it off with some dignity. "Then... I'll... I'll... send Fianola a poem that Neal wrote for a girl and say it was from you!"

Faleron arched one questioning eyebrow. "He writes poetry? And girls like it?"

"One out of a dozen," he shrugs. "He's making progress."

"And what's this about Fianola?"

"Oh, that. I overheard Kel use your name and hers in a sentence, but I didn't quite hear all of it. Just a random threat."

"Oh." Faleron's eyes widened. "Oh! Damn, I'm so sorry. This is my cousin, Merric Hollyrose."

Merric stepped forward to shake Cleon's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Cleon gave a low whistle. "Clean cut and everything. I can tell you're cousins."

Prosper stood up from where he was. "Hey! You three! Get over here! It's half time, and whoever gets to the couch last is stuck with salad! There is only one burger left!"

Yuki smacked him on the back of the head. "Oh, so you're saying Fia's salad is bad, huh?"

"It's _vegetables_," half of the guys chorused.

"Too bad," Keladry said loudly. "You're eating it. Neal, you haven't bitten down on that burger yet. Leave it so there's some for them. Eat the salad."

Neal's groan could be heard all around that floor of the building. "But... I don't like vegetables!"

Merric laughed. "Wow, they're just like the fellas at home. These are the Riders? Really?"

"That's them, " Cleon nodded. He paused. "Save for Dom and Qasim. They're working late."

They joined the others at the couch. Some sat on the floor, plastic plates in their laps. Fianola scooted over and beckoned Faleron to sit next to her. He didn't see any other clear spots, so he did. Keladry stared at them for ten seconds, suddenly smiling and muttering to Yuki.

Merric became acquainted with all of Faleron's friends, though he couldn't tell apart which were Riders and which were not. It didn't matter at the moment. He was having fun and enjoying himself. There need not be any other reason than that to be happy.

~~

Faleron yawned and stretched like a cat the next morning. He absently rubbed the back of his neck as he slowly stood up from bed. Merric was sleeping in the living room, on the extra mattress. They'd come home late last night, only having the energy to brush their teeth, change clothing, and tumble into bed. 

He tiptoed past his slumbering cousin, hoping to find something in his pantry for breakfast. He came up with a box of cereal-- Lucky Charms, his favorite. In the refrigerator, there was half a gallon of milk, and a quart of orange juice left. The orange juice was Cleon's, brought over a couple of days ago when they watched the movie. Faleron never did understand why he liked pulpy orange juice so much. He could certainly understand a healthy obsession with Lucky Charms, but not orange juice.

When Merric woke up, half an hour later, Faleron put a bowl of cereal in front of him and asked him whether he wanted milk or orange juice. Merric took the milk and poured it into the cereal. 

"So, what's good around Tusaine?"

Faleron frowned. "Nothing that I know of, really. I mean, there's a museum and a city aquarium, I guess. Um, maybe a couple of sporting events."

"That's okay. How about your friends? What are they doing right now?"

"Cleon and Neal are stuck on some cheesy, no-effort jobs. And Kel, I don't know. We can hang out at her place for a while."

Merric was halfway done with his cereal. "She's not like I expected her."

"Oh? What were you expecting?"

His cousin chuckled. "Big, intimidating action heroine. You know, the kind in the movies. Except maybe a little better than the movie girls, because she's a real person and she was all over the news."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that. Keladry was annoyed for a while at all the media attention, so the Commissioner issued a no-speak order."

"What's that?"

"It's the nickname for this condition where if Headquarters believes that the media is pestering an officer of the DJPF too much, and possibly distracting him or her from the work, then it issues an order for the media not to even speak to that person," he explained. "Keladry and the others were pretty happy to get the order issued a week after the final showdown at the Presidential Estate. It was so much easier on us all."

"Was she some sort of child prodigy or whiz kid at the Academy or something? I mean, no one really enters and graduates that young. I mean, the average age to enter is my age right now. Or even then, after high school graduation."

Faleron scratched the back of his neck. "She always was a little too good to be true. Yeah, I guess you would say she was some sort of prodigy that way."

"I'd want to be like her. I mean, known and successful and all that." The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Well, can we go to her place now?"

"Sure. Let's go."

~~

A automated message was recorded on the intercom. It was Keladry, saying she was upstairs hanging out with Yuki, Lerant, and Fianola upstairs at Lerant's place. Faleron and Merric went back to the elevator, but not before Merric got some candy from the vending machine.

"Butterfinger BB's?" Faleron eyed his choice.

"Why not?"

He decided to forget about it. Up they went to Lerant's apartment. By now, it had become like routine for the Riders to gather at his place out of all of them. There was no reason why. It just became that way, without anyone ever noticing or questioning it.

Faleron rang the doorbell beside the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"It's Fal."

The door slid open. Lerant welcomed them in. There was a pile of shoes near the door, so Fal and Merric took off theirs as well, nudging them aside. Everyone was lounging around the couch or on the floor. A bag of reduced fat potato chips was being constantly passed around, as well as rainbow jellybeans. The jellybeans were more likely to run out sooner. The bag was almost empty, whereas there was more than enough potato chips.

"Hi," Keladry greeted Merric as she sat up from where she'd been lying down on the couch. "Having fun on your visit?"

"Tons," he affirmed. "So, what have you guys been doing?"

Yuki offered him some jellybeans. He was standing right behind her. "Oh, nothing much. This has been the longest time we've never had any work from Raoul. We plan to enjoy it."

"Something tells me he's going to go on overkill as soon as we start up again," Lerant sighed. He was the only one consuming the potato chips. "There are some drinks next to the sink, if you want any."

"No, I'm cool."

Fianola got up from her place on the carpet and grabbed Faleron's hand. She whispered something to him and dragged him over to her spot to sit. Keladry noticed again and bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. It wasn't like her to do that, but she was still loosened up since after Seastone. The youngest Rider was certainly out to catch herself a boyfriend. And either Faleron didn't have a clue-- the least likely-- or he was actually enjoying her flirtatious behavior.

__

He needed somebody to be close to besides Cleon and me, anyway. But I wonder if Fianola won't annoy him first with her youthful behavior, or if he won't annoy her with his patient, prudish actions. It's got to be one or the other. For some reason, she just could not imagine them lasting more than a month. Keladry didn't want to be so skeptical about it, but it wouldn't stop bugging her. They were her friends, and how they related to each other would affect everyone else around them, too. 

She berated herself. _Just shut up and concentrate on the stupid holo screen. You've gone crazy._

Her attention shifted over to Merric, who was chatting with Yuki about his home life. It was one of those awkward, still-getting-to-know-you conversations, but Merric handled himself very well. Yuki, for once, was perfectly clean, and not in her work clothes. But Keladry bet that it wouldn't be long before she found an excuse to try and fix something around Lerant's apartment and get grease smudged onto herself. 

Fianola stood up, her arm hooked with Faleron's. "We're going to look at my CDs. We'll be right back."

"Merric, if you want to go somewhere and I'm not back yet, go with Kel, alright?"

"Sure," his cousin smiled. He, like Keladry, knew exactly what was going down.

Faleron feigned complete ignorance, or at least, she _assumed _he was faking it. The two similarly short people left Lerant's, making small talk as they got their shoes on and went out the door. Lerant grinned mischievously, and nudged Kel.

"Can you believe that?"

She shook her head, smirking. "Faleron doesn't listen to many CDs. I don't think he even owns any."

"I was wondering how my cousin's love life was going," Merric commented, tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

"Well, hey. This is all pretty new to us, too. I guess Fia goes all out when she's attracted to somebody." Yuki paused. "Actually, I've never seen her interested in someone. Why would she pick Faleron?"

Keladry started laughing-- not too racously--, but she couldn't stop to form coherent words for the others to understand. She was the only one to know the real main reason Fianola had taken interest in Faleron. Kel wasn't going to snitch though. They'd write Fia off as shallow or something. Which would be very bad. 

She quieted down almost as soon as she started. It was totally out of character for her to laugh like that. No doubt, her friends would throw it in her face later on. She dismissed it for now and they went back to watching television. It was some old episode of a sitcom placed in the big city with four unlikely roommates. The plot was very flat, but they watched it anyway. There were some pointless things you could only subject yourself to if you had someone else with you. This was one of those things.

About three quarters of an hour went by, before Keladry checked her pager. She mentally cursed.

"Great. I'm late! I was supposed to at Chief's half an hour ago to get some new job he thought was good for me!" She climbed over the couch, since Yuki and then Merric were sitting in areas where she'd have walked on. "Sorry I have to leave like this!"

Lerant shrugged. "Don't mention it! See ya!"

The rest said their rushed goodbyes as Keladry yanked on one shoe, and then the other. She realized she wasn't wearing full uniform, but hoped her uniform jacket would suffice. Panic swept through her. Honestly, Keladry had never forgotten something, or been late to something so... average as getting orders. 

She sloppily hit the button for the door, still adjusting her shoe on her left heel. "Argh... stupid... Okay, bye!"

The door promptly shut. Those left went back to the watching the show. Seconds later, Lerant was finally done with his chips. He'd been taking his time with them. He asked for jellybeans. Yuki laughed and disappointed him by throwing the balled-up empty bag at him.

~~

Keladry drove a squad car, given to her the day before. It was sadly needed, since she no longer wished to bum rides from Fianola or Roald-- though calling Roald and riding in Ms. Sarrasri's super-nice car was awesome. She didn't want to bother anyone whenever she needed to go someplace. And she often would, since she volunteered to do grocery shopping for Neal and Cleon. 

Why? She figured they would take turns, so not all three of them would have to trudge out every week when they had other things to do. Kel would be paid back, if she wrote down what each man received and how much it cost. The real reason she did was because the only way to make sure Neal and Cleon didn't eat junk food everyday was to shop for them. And even then, when it was Cleon's turn, she'd made plans to page him exact shopping lists that he could not vary from, on pain of death.

Or on pain of something really unpleasant. She wasn't sure yet. Kel had a feeling he would purchase a great quantity of orange juice and then freezer foods. 

Back to the present. Keladry was now entering the station, stopping at the metal detector to reveal her watch and pager. After that, she impatiently jogged past the front desk, tossing an apologetic smile at the desk lady while she held up her ID to her.

The elevator seemed extremely slow. All things seemed slow when a person was late and had someplace to be. It was like some strange universal force purposely dragged out every second to your conscious notice so you felt extremely anxious about the time.

This was not one of her favorite things in the world. She was tapping her feet and drumming her fingers on the side of her thighs. No wonder she usually showed up early to every little thing in her life. This was excruciating torture. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it _could _have been torture.

On the third floor, Chief Flyndon Whiteford was staring at his clock while yawning. He looked up when he saw her approach.

"Oh. There you are. Are your clocks broken, Mindelan? Because mine says you're at least half an hour late."

She inwardly kicked herself. "No, sir. My clocks are correct. I apologize."

He waited for her to continue. "What? No excuses?"

She bowed. "I was taught by my teacher that one should never bring up excuses, if those excuses would do nothing to improve the situation."

Flyndon made an interested sound. "Really? Which Academy?"

"Tortall, sir."

"Ah. A fine institution." He gestured to the seat. "Please, sit."

She sat. For a brief couple of moments, she'd wondered why he'd bothered to ask what Academy she'd attended. But people transferred to HQ in Tortall all the time from distant Academies, she concluded. That must have been the reason. Flyndon shuffled around a few folders and documents on his desk. He chose a manila folder with a green tab and handed it to her. Keladry took it and started flipping through the items within.

"I've looked over your past work from Tortall. Your assignments are far more exemplary than that of your fellow transferees. I believe you're perfectly suited to this next one." He started spinning a pen in one hand. "I wish I had more first class officers like you. To tell the truth, the Immortals Expedition stole away most of my competent officers. I have very few left."

Keladry nodded, glancing back and forth from his face to the folder in her lap. She briefly thought of Owen. She missed him. But now was not the time to be missing people. It was time for work.

"The man's name is Ivath Brand. He's been abusing his girlfriend and her children, as well as neighbors of his apartment building. He resisted arrest last time he was reported, and since then has fled to where we believe he's holding up with his brother around Wilshire and Burnston Street." He let out a deep breath. "I would consider him dangerous, but we have yet to know if he's armed. I've made sure some third ranks will be circulating in the area, should you request back up, but I think we have a better chance surprising him with just you sneaking around."

"I understand. Are there any surrounding civilians I should watch out for, just in case he tries to pull something?"

Flyndon set the pen down. "I'd hope the answer is no. As far as I know, he's not smart enough to take a hostage. If you can just sneak in and apprehend him before he knows what hit him, we'll all be better off."

"Yes, sir." She tucked the file under one arm and saluted. He inclined his head for a brief second. She was dismissed. Keladry made an effort to form intelligible thoughts, but her mind was blank. What else was there to think about? 

Oh, wait. She had to figure out how to take the man by surprise in a dangerous environment she had very little information about. She had to make sure no innocent persons got in the crossfire. Keladry had done this sort of thing before. Of course, that was Tortall, but how different could Tusaine be? 

Tortall had been so big, she never new the area anyway. There was _always _a chance that a civilian could get in the way, or be put in danger. Infiltration and surprise was something she'd been drilled in at the Academy, though it never took as well as she hoped. 

__

I've worked my butt off on the most dangerous things for the last few years to make it to first class. I've done the unprecedented. And now I'm being all whiny over a stupid case like this. That vacation made a lazy slug of me. I never should have went. 

Elsewhere, Merric had become very bored with hanging around the Riders. It had nothing to do with them. It was the lack of anything exciting to do. He figured that the Riders were used to exciting things, and that being bored was a blessing for their aching and sore limbs. But Merric was not one of them. And he was going crazy sitting on the floor of an apartment, watching the marathon of the lousiest sitcom he'd ever come across.

He checked his watch as a pretense to stand up and act worried. "Oh, I'm sorry. I meant to go home and make this call to my parents to tell them I arrived okay." Yuki and Lerant looked up, no change of expression.

"Go ahead, Merric. We'll see you later. Do you need a ride home?" Yuki asked. She looked around. "I mean, I think Fia left her keys here, and I can drive you."

Lerant searched the couch cushions he was on. He also stretched himself to see past Merric and at the kitchen counter. "Umm, no, actually I think she took them with her."

"That's okay. I can get back by myself. I know the way."

Yuki got up to open the door for him. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Are you sure?"

Merric nodded. "Yeah. Being seventeen and all, I _think _I just might survive the harsh journey."

Lerant laughed. "Then see you later!"

"See you," he called back, and smiled appreciatively at Yuki as she waved. He briskly strode down the hall to the elevator, wondering if he had time to go to the vending machine on the third floor again.

Once outside of the building, he started walking aimlessly. If he was lucky, he'd discover a nice variety shop or restaurant. There had to be something worthwhile to be found. Something fun, something interesting...

~~

Keladry decided against putting on her full uniform. If she was going to sneak into the place, there was no sense making herself the obvious target by revealing she was DJPF. She folded the warrant for arrest in half and inserted it in her back pocket. She could still conceal her gun and collapsible energy glaive on her body. That was not the problem.

"Wilshire... Wilshire..." she whispered. At the moment, she was driving on Burnston Street. As soon as she found Wilshire, she would park the squad car a few blocks away where it could not be seen, then proceed to search the area. There were already two officers she had made contact with. They were patrolling close by and were ready if she needed them to be. 

There was a red light, so she stopped. That was when she noticed where she was.

She spotted the street sign which read Wilshire. It looked like a typical rundown neighborhood. The street had old brick buildings or houses with sunken in roofs. Weeds grew tall from the cracks in the sidewalk. Attempts to whitewash a long fence had stopped midway. A small, broken red wagon was sitting in a driveway.

At least it wasn't Carthak, she mused. The light turned green. She moved forward, taking her time. Now she just needed a place to park. That couldn't take so long. 

~~

After two or three strange specialty shops, Merric was trying to retrace his steps to get back home. It had been at least an hour since he left Yuki and Lerant. Hopefully, his cousin was still busy and wouldn't come to pick him up from the Riders. That could easily get him in trouble with his parents. He loved Faleron like a brother, but obviously, the shorter cousin could learn to be less stiff and mature.

The smart and humble thing to do would have been to page Faleron and confess that he wondered off on his own and gotten lost. Instead, he ended up in one of the less than picturesque neighborhoods, lost without a clue, and determined to find his own way back. He stepped high over weeds in the sidewalk and around a small red wagon in someone's driveway. 

He shielded his eyes with his hands and read the green street sign. "Wilshire and Burnston. Hmm." He was about to cross the street to reach a pay phone when he spotted a familiar head of light brown hair. "Keladry?"

She wasn't wearing her uniform. He guessed that meant she was off duty. That was good. He could hang out with her in the meantime. Keladry was such a fantastic person. He could learn a lot from her on being set on his goals and working hard. This was the sort of person he wanted to be. All these years tagging behind Faleron, and this young woman was the type of role model he should have had.

Guilt made itself present in the back of his mind. He'd always do certain things he'd learned from Fal, but Kel could teach him so much more. Today would be a great time to start on his new path. 

Keladry entered a rundown building with wooden boards over the higher windows. Graffiti covered the outer walls, bright color tags of 'artists' who wished to leave their mark. A dog was barking somewhere above. Shouts of a fed up master accompanied the animal's sounds. 

The first door on her right had missing numbers. There was a discoloration in the shape of the numerals, indicating that it had once been 2A.. She relaxed herself, rotating her shoulders a tiny bit. It was bad to be tense when entering a potentially dangerous situation. It was okay to be alert, but tense didn't help. 

She knocked three times and stood back. _Anticipate everything, _she reminded herself. But it would be a unlikely the man who opened the door would pull a gun on her. If he did, though, she could handle it. She'd handled tons of things. But the moment before always got her.

"Relax," she muttered. 

The door opened just a crack. A woman of exotic appearance glanced fearfully out. 

"What do you want?" the woman, dark haired and dark eyed, asked. Her voice was thickly accented. It sounded a bit Carthakian. She had big lips, in dark red lipstick. Finely manicured nails were also painted the same red. Her hand trembled against the door frame.

Keladry smiled, so as to prevent the woman from suspecting that she would do her harm. "I'm looking for Ivath Brand. Do you know who he is?"

The woman made a move to close the door, but Keladry stuck her foot in and forced it open. The woman backed away, shaking her head with terror in her eyes.

"No, no," Keladry crooned. She raised her hands over her head. "I'm not going to hurt you. " Her gaze swept over the room. There were water stains on the ceiling. A broken radiator gained cobwebs in the corner. There was a off green couch with the stuffing coming out of the cushions. Old pizza boxes were piled on a rickety metal table. 

"What do you want with Ivath?" the woman asked suspiciously.

Keladry slowly showed the woman her pager ID. "I'm with the DJPF. I'm here to arrest him for the bad things he's done." She stared the woman in the eye, speaking in gentle tones. "Do you know where he is?"

"That scoundrel? You're taking him away?" the woman suddenly became bold. Resolution took shape in her words. "Good. I don't want him bothering Roberto and me anymore. I don't care if he is his brother."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll take him away. But, do you know where he is?"

The woman pointed in the direction the remainder of the hall went. "He's at the end. Last door on the left. He has a gun though."

Keladry nodded. She checked her own gun, concealed under her vest. "Is there anyone else in the building?"

"Just that hermit Vanget haMinch. No one goes near him. Not even Ivath. It's the dog."

"Oh. I see." She reached into her pocket and came up with some coppers. The woman, realizing that they were for her, stuck out her hand. Keladry dropped the coins onto her palm. "I want you to get some of your things and get out of here. Call your husband at work and don't let him come home."

The woman went through another doorway to fetch her purse and belongings. She was muttering to herself some obscenities in a different language. Keladry waited patiently for her to finish. Protocol demanded that she wait until she knew the lady was out of the building and away from harm.

She now wondered how she would get Mr. haMinch and his dog out. She like dogs; really, she did. But the sounds of the barking from above intimidated her. If only all dogs were as well behaved as Jump, Thom Trebond's dog, then this would improve her job conditions by so much. Going upstairs, she risked being mauled to death. 

"Excuse me?" Keladry called out feebly. _Wow. What an authority figure I must look like..._

"Yes?" the woman reentered. 

Keladry looked up at the ceiling. "What sort of dog does Mr. haMinch have?"

"A Rottweiler," the woman answered. She set down one faded yellow suitcase made of mostly vinyl and plastic. Then she dusted her hands off on the lap of her colorful skirt. "I don't think you have any problems with that mutt, though. Ivath would not go near it, so you don't have to go near it."

Keladry nodded. _No, not a Rottweiler. I've heard stories of that breed. No, no, no..._ "I have to evacuate this whole building. It's mandatory." She walked over to the window and lifted up the blinds. "And warn the neighboring area."

The woman laughed. "No, sweetie," her accent made her words teasing. "Don't worry about the dog. Go beat up that son of a bitch Ivath. I will drop by Lucina's next door and tell her to take kids out for food and then she tell the rest of her building."

__

It couldn't hurt. No one would know that I left haMinch and the dog alone. I mean, the two patrol boys nearby-- I can talk them into not mentioning it to anyone IF they hear the dog. Everybody likes me because of the Immortals thing. I can use it for influence...

She could've kicked herself. Now she was thinking of using her new fame status to avoid dealing with a simple dog. This was a new all-time low. 

"I should head upstairs," Keladry amended. "But thank you for going next door and warning people. I'll wait until I see you from here to continue. Thank you, Mrs..."

"Mrs. Brand. Mrs. Roberto Brand. I am unfortunate to share a name with that bastard Ivath," the woman spat. She sighed. "Now I go. Good luck, Officer. I hope he rots."

Keladry smiled weakly. "Heheh... Thanks. I think."

~~

Merric entered, trying to be as silent as a mouse. He wondered what Keladry would be doing here if she were off duty. Not too far into the hall, he heard Keladry's voice and a woman's talking. So that was it. She was visiting a friend who lived there. 

__

I'd better not interrupt, he thought and snuck past. There was light coming from a room at the far end, on the left. Maybe the occupant who lived there also knew Keladry. That would be perfect. Merric could get to know her without having to ask pestering questions. After all, it would look extremely childish to appear a wannabe. But that's what he was. He wanted to be like her. 

In the back of his mind, he pondered if it was all right, doing what he was doing. He should have let Faleron know where he was. Faleron was so proud of him, and protective. But Faleron was also allowing himself to be distracted. And anything that came of that was his cousin's fault, and not Merric's. 

"I'm just having some fun," he said to himself as he approached the end of the hall.

He knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar. "Hello?"

A gruff looking man came to the door. He had dirty blonde hair and an unshaven face. His brow was hairy, making it appear like he had one long eyebrow instead of two small ones. Merric stepped back, eyes wide and heart pounding.

"What do you want?" he demanded in a deep bass voice. 

Merric gulped. "Uh, I'm sorry. I'm waiting for my friend, an officer. She's talking to one of your neighbors at the beginning of the hall. I wasn't sure if you were acquainted with her as well."

The man stared at him. He looked out the door into the hall. Then he nodded for Merric to enter.

__

What am I doing? Something doesn't feel right. Oh, Merric, you idiot. You should have stayed and waited for Fal... He stepped across the thresh hold, smelling the cigars and the putrid stench of alcohol soaked into clothing. He wrinkled his nose and bit his tongue, trying not to gag. But he did believe he was going to be sick. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have intruded on your privacy. I think I'll go," Merric half spoke, half gasped. He turned to open the door, but then everything went black.

~~

Keladry waited a little under half an hour by Mrs. Roberto Brand's window. She was relieved when she finally saw the woman accompanied by another lady exit the building next door. Behind them was a line of children of varying ages. The other residents of the building closed their windows and put down their curtains. Others got into their cars and drove away. 

She stepped away from the window, rubbing her hands together. Now to deal with Mr. haMinch and the Rottweiler. _Oh, this is going to be fun, _she sardonically thought. She silently said that she would rather face a hostile Stormwing than that dog which she could hear so plainly on the floor above. 

"Stop being a baby," she scolded herself. With a determined look on her face, she marched out of the apartment and headed to the stairwell halfway down the hall. 

She could hear the dog roaming around on the second floor. Maybe she was getting nervous over nothing and the dog wasn't that terrible after all. 

__

Even Ivath won't go near it. 

"Damn," she muttered, now so nervous that she was cursing-- something she didn't like to do. So, she steadied her racing heart as she stepped onto the next floor. Dust floated around her shoes, disturbed by her walking. No one had been up there in a long time. 

So Mr. Vanget haMinch was a hermit. That made sense. She wondered how he got his food. Maybe there was a dumbwaiter installed in his room. That could explain a lot. It wasn't as if there was a manager to the building. It was only occupied by those who could stand to live in a rat-infested place and not have to pay rent. 

"This place should be condemned," she whispered. No doubt, after the DJPF were done hauling out Mr. Brand and putting him in jail, someone would make a comment about the building and bring it up to standard.

There. There was a sliver of light from beneath a brown door on the end. This time, there was a room number on it. The brass of the numbers was rusted, but she could read it plainly.

__

Not that I have to write that thorough a report... She took a shuddering breath before knocking.

Ten minutes later, she was face to face with two baby Rottweilers, cuddled up against their adult mother, who barked viciously, but made no attempt at moving. Keladry was politely sitting on a perfectly clean pink armchair with a crocheted doily over it. It was the work of Mr. haMinch's late wife, supposedly. 

"You look like Irene," the old man commented as he brought her some tea in well kept porcelain cups. They appeared to be antiques. Keladry wondered at the welcome surprise. 

She thanked him and took a sip. "Uh, Mr. haMinch, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave the building for a bit. There's a dangerous criminal being harbored downstairs and I must apprehend him. I can't do that if there are other people around whose safety is threatened."

He squinted at her and stomped his cane on the floor, eliciting a bark from the mother dog.

"I ain't leaving. Haven't left this place in a long time. Don't think I need to leave cuz of that whipper snapper downstairs."

She smiled obligingly. "I can understand how you would feel, sir, but I really need you to evacuate. Just temporarily. I'm sure you would be able to go a couple of houses down the block and stay with someone just until this whole thing blows over. The DJPF would pay for it."

"You DJPF would also condemn the darn building," the man snapped. "And then were would I put Irene's stuff?"

That was something she couldn't answer. Keladry set the cup down on the table. "Please, sir. Perhaps just as a favor. One that I'd pay back, certainly."

He peered at her for a long moment, nostalgia in his eyes. He waved her off. "Aww, I'll leave. I never could deny you, Irene."

She smiled reluctantly. Irene was dead, but the man could not let go. It was alright with Keladry if he wanted to see his wife in her-- but just for a bit. If it got him out of the place and into safety, then she'd allow him to think what he wanted. 

The next few minutes, Kel was helping the man pack his most necessary things, and most prized possessions. This mainly consisted of his wife's belongings: the tea set, some quilts, and a case of jewelry. He refused help though, in moving himself down the street. Keladry was surprised when he discarded his cane and with an unexpected strength for a man his age, and went down the stairs with his things without her help. 

Now it was time to finally deal with Ivath Brand. The first job since her vacation had ended. It felt different now, working jobs she was used to. The vacation had released a relaxed side to her-- a part of her that enjoyed life instead of filling life up with duties she didn't need to take on. 

She checked her gun again, making sure she had an extra clip if she needed it. She hoped that she wouldn't. Her energy glaive was tucked into her low rise boot, under the leg of her pants. She was badly out of practice with it, but brought it along anyway.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" she called as she nudged open the door. 

A man came in from another room. He smiled at her, showing his crooked and yellowed teeth. "Yes?"

She tried to remain inconspicuous to what she was really here for. "Hi, I'm sorry to interrupt, uh, whatever you were doing, but are you Mr. Ivath Brand?"

He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "That would be me."

"In that case, I need to have a word with you. If you would come closer, sir."

He grinned wider. "Anything for a pretty face."

She tried hard not to show the disgust she felt on the inside. Ivath stepped closer, confident for some reason. She didn't know if he was armed, but he looked cocky enough to have a weapon on him. Keladry reached under her vest and produced her gun. She trained it on him with one hand while showing him her pager ID on her other wrist.

"Ivath Samuel Brand, you are under arrest for the abuse and beatings of Iris Eyesly and her children, as well as four of your neighbors at the address of 58 Kings Street. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law--"

The man started laughing. "Honey, don't go any farther."

She put both hands on her gun. "I said, you have the right to remain silent. I'd suggest you'd do so." She continued on her memorized speech. "If you do not have a current attorney to present you, the Federation of the Court will appoint you one--" _hopefully the sleaziest, dumbest one in Mithros ..._"Or you will have the freedom to defend yourself in the Federation Council's Court."

He yawned. "Seriously, don't go any farther. Sugar, you should be the one to put your gun down. Not me."

He reached behind him. Keladry tightened her hold on the trigger. "Sir, you don't want to do that. I'll shoot. I'm within my rights to."

He withdrew his hand, holding a small belt pager in his palm. "You don't want to shoot me." He squinted his eyes to read the name on the pager. "Merric Hollyrose. Hmm... you know him?"

Keladry's blood ran cold. "Shit."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Baby Doll," he teased. He drew his gun and pointed it at her. "Now why don't you lay your gun on the floor, any extra magazines, and kick them over to me, huh?" While he said this, he threw down the pager onto his table and walked backwards to his closet. 

__

This isn't happening. 

She placed her gun on the floor, with her extra clip and kicked it toward him. The man slowly bent down to pick the gun up and point one at her while keeping the other trained on the door. He opened it by hooking his elbow around the knob and yanking it open that way.

Inside the closet, Merric was bound and gagged, the corner of his mouth being purple and swollen, with a trickle of blood down his chin. 

__

Hostage situation. I hate hostage situations. I'm not good at hostage situations. Why did it have to be a hostage situation?!

"Now, you're going to take those delightful handcuffs of yours and use them on yourself. Cuff 'em to that pipe over there." He gestured to a part of a pipe exposed through a broken place in the wall.

She looked to Merric, who looked terrified but also focused upon her. 

"Don't worry, Merric, it's going to be okay," she told him as she retrieved her handcuffs from within an inner pocket of her vest. She held the handcuffs up, to show them to Ivath. He nodded.

__

That's it. Blessed inspiration was going to save her. She dropped the cuffs, pretending to have dropped them by mistake. She continued to hold her hands up above her head.

"Pick them up, bitch!" he ordered. He moved closer to the cuffs and pointed at them with his original gun.

She sluggishly moved forward, genuflecting in a way with her left knee on the dirt speckled floor while she reached for the cuffs with her right hand. The cuffs were next to her right foot. And her right boot was exactly where _it_ was. 

In a blink of any eye, she drew her energy glaive and expanded it, striking forward before Ivath could react. The end struck him forcefully in the chest, knocking the air out of him. He slammed backwards into the wall, dropping the gun aimed at her. Before he could shoot the other one, Keladry spun around and ignited the flare at the end of her pole arm to burn his hand. 

Ivath cried out and dropped the gun, clutching his wound. Spittle from his mouth dribbled down his chin as he wailed ceaselessly. Keladry picked up the dropped weapon and aimed it at him. She moved toward Merric, collapsing her energy glaive again and tucking it into the waistband of her pants, though the bottom of her shirt flipped over it. 

"Merric, are you okay?" she asked once she removed his gag.

"I'm okay. Kel, I'm so sorry! I got lost wondering around... then I saw you come into this building and..." he stammered. He was soothed by her attentive gaze. With her free hand, she worked to undo the rope tied around his wrists. The skin there was red.

She helped him undo the rest of his bonds. Doing this, she failed to notice Ivath, whom she still assumed was freaking out due to his injury.

Merric looked up from what they were doing and spotted the gun barrel, leveled at them.

"Watch out!" he yelled, shoving Kel out of the way. He pressed himself to the side of the closet, where the overlarge doorframe shielded him some.

Kel twisted around, firing back and hitting Ivath in his chest, a bit below his right shoulder. 

"Agh!" He hit the floor hard, screaming his pain. Keladry sent a distress call to the patrolling officers she talked to earlier. Mr. Brand was down and needed medical assistance. She was fine. Everyone in the area was fine. 

Her attention shifted back to her friend's cousin. "Merric, I want you to pick up that rope and gag and run out of here. Wait for me next door. Don't let any officers see you."

He frowned. "But... why?"

She dared taking her eyes of Ivath again. "Look, if my superiors call your parents and tell them what happened to you, I don't think they'd ever let you visit Faleron again." She bit her lip. "I don't like this. I don't usually lie for friends. I'm a model officer. I usually do everything that's in the rule book, because that's the sort of person I am." 

"Kel, I'm sorry--"

"Later, later," she chided. "I'm letting you off the hook because I value you and Faleron more than my responsibility. Take advantage of it, would you? This is a once in a century offer that I, of all people, go against the rules for personal reasons." She jerked her head towards the door leading out to the hallway. "Go. Now."

__

She looks so alive in the midst of a fight. So honorable, so... great, he thought to himself. He couldn't explain the warm feeling within him for the older woman. But he did what he was told. Merric picked up the ropes and gag and sprinted out, smiling to himself.

Keladry groaned. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this."

~~

"_What happened to you?!_" Faleron was hysterical. Cleon had never seen his usually calm and witty best friend like this. It was something that never happened. Faleron being hysterical was like the time... the time in Scanra... no, before that... the time when he was so reluctant to shoot Keladry in the head... no... no...

"Fal, it's okay! I'm fine!" Merric protested. 

Cleon snapped back to reality. He came over to sit beside the seventeen year-old and his frantic cousin. Merric was holding a wet cloth to the corner of his mouth, wiping off the dried blood and wincing as he felt the swollen bit.

Keladry stood wearily in the doorway. She had had Merric wait for her in Dom's computer lab at the station until she was done filing her report on Ivath Brand. Neal's godbrother was not in at the moment. Which was good. She didn't feel like explaining anything. And anyone who spied Merric within the lab thought he was a new Rider. After all, he was a civilian.

Now it was night, and they were in Cleon's apartment. Faleron had hung out with him when the redhead got home, refusing to comment about what he'd been doing with Fianola since earlier in the day.

"You look tired, Tough Stuff. Have something to drink," Cleon offered. He got up to get a glass of ice water for her. He snickered. "Wow, compared to my day giving out traffic tickets like a lousy third class, you had barrels of fun, huh?"

She groaned. "Shut up, you." She accepted the ice water and sipped. "Fal, I think it would be best if you didn't mention this to your aunt and uncle. You might never see Merric again."

He nodded. "Thank you so much, Kel. This is all my fault. If I hadn't stranded him with Lerant and Yuki--"

"It's not your fault," Merric interrupted. "I should have stayed with them like you told me to."

Cleon eyed the youngest man. "Compared to Kel, you look dead on your feet, kid. Go and lie down in the bedroom. You and Ice Cream Pants can crash here so you don't have to go all the way back to your place."

"You sure it's okay? I mean, you could take the couch, and I could sleep on the floor," Faleron began. Cleon stopped him.

"No, it's cool. Take the couch." He shoved his hands in his pockets and winked. "I think I'll go crash over at Fianola's and ask her how wild you were. That'll be a riot."

Faleron turned bright red. "No, it was _nothing _like that. Okay!? She's 18 for crying out loud! I'm 24! No way! That's six years, dude!" He held up his fingers. "Six years! As in, half a dozen. As in, just more than half a decade! As in... she was in the sixth grade while I was graduating!"

Keladry and Merric started laughing. Cleon gave a wolf whistle.

"You seduced a girl under 21," he grinned. "Aww... you _wild stallion_, you!"

"ARGH!" he tugged his hat over his ears. "Damn you, Kennan! She's the one who seduced me--" he stopped midway, realizing how wrong that sounded. "_No one did ANY seducing_!"

The rest of them cracked up with no hopes of stopping for hours. Faleron, his dignity lost for the evening, slumped into the couch and shot glares at his cousin and friends.

~~

Keladry left an hour later, wondering if she could get some fresh ice from the second floor before she went to bed. She got her ice bucket from her apartment and took the stairs down, because it led to the elevated walkway surrounded with trees. She loved the walkway, though little time she'd been living in Tusaine.

The moon was full. It was a bright luminescent orb of beauty in the dark blue skies. The stars were not easily seen, thanks to all of Tusaine's visible lights. But that was okay with her. The moon was there, and that was all. 

She wished she could feel the sun's warmth though, and it was too much to hope for since the moon only reflected the sun's light. Or rather, not even reflected. Absorbed and transformed into its own kind of beams.

A hard day and she could still find something to stimulate her thoughts. _Wow. I guess that vacation did more for me than I thought. _She was halfway across the covered walkway when she noticed someone was leaning out, gazing at the city's lights.

His pale blond hair-- so pale it could have been white-- it identified him immediately. That color... Keladry could see him as a child of the moon with hair like that. And his eyes were icy, like the airless vacuum of space. So cold. 

He turned to look at her, not speaking. He resumed his outward gaze.

It was then she realized that she was now wearing his jacket, retrieved from the squad car after her tussle with Brand. Keladry took it off quickly and not gracefully. She hesitantly advanced toward him, holding the article of clothing in her arms.

"Sorry about a few days ago. Here. You can have it back now."

He regarded her through half lidded eyes. "It's still windy out."

Yes, she knew it was windy. Strands of his unbelievable hair blew around his head in such a way, she only thought this was a dream of some sensational artist painting a picture of indescribable beauty. But, did that mean for her to put the jacket back on? He wanted her to keep wearing it?

"You sure?" she asked in such a hushed voice that she was suddenly embarrassed.

He rested his chin on his palm. Joren once again went back to looking at the part of the city he could see, from where the land sloped down. "Yeah. Give it back to me later. I want to be alone right now."

__

This isn't like him, she thought. _Is this what being back in Tusaine does to him? Or is it something else? _To remain a bit longer, she put on the jacket and picked up her ice bucket again. "I'll, um, give it back tomorrow. Don't leave so early. Not that I have to catch a ride with you to see Raoul again," she shrugged, a bit skittish. "Umm, but we can... talk about my bike? You know..."

"Sure," he murmured. It was like his mind was somewhere miles away. She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Only he ever made her feel so insignificant and so non-existent. It was aggravating, but this time it was worrying her. 

__

Leave it alone for now. Wait until he's ready to talk. And that might even be a long time in coming. She walked past him. Before she went inside the other building, she glanced over her shoulder at him again.

Glanced at the crestfallen moon child who silently stood sentinel over a place he'd started to call home, in place of another hell across the sea. She imagined his tears against her shoulder, as it had occurred in that other hell. She imagined his desperate lips, trying to find something human to keep him grounded to earth instead of floating back up to the cold moon where he belonged. 

She imagined his rare, bittersweet smile, and when her first name and not surname had been on his tongue.

__

"Keladry..."

~~

Author: Wow. Good? Yes? No? Maybe so? At the end of the episode, I'd realized that Joren was barely in this one. I hope this short ending scene was enough to satisfy all you romantics for now. It's so hard to do these scenes romantically and not like a cheesy dime-store romance novel. You know? Well, is it different than those? Is it better?

I KNOW there are a lot of you who appreciate me taking the time to develop this weird, unlikely couple so it's realistic to a certain extent, but unbelievable, too... but you're also very aware that I have probably taken the _longest_ time out of all the authors at fanfiction.net to do this development. This season will not have been in vain. I'll hopefully be hitting the right emotions with the two to finally progress their "relationship". (Ain't that one hell of an incentive to keep reading ICBW?)

Forget that... How did you like the action? The comedy? Fal being called a Wild Stallion? Oh, and I _will _put more substance to the Fal/Fianola thing. I didn't mean for Fianola to sound like a ho or anything. She's not. Really. *pause* Anyway... Review. Tell me whatcha think.

IMPORTANT!

Thanks to Silverstar188@yahoo.com, I've started a mailing list for all those who aren't members at ff.net and don't have authoralert. PLEASE, email me to join. doesn't matter what you put in the text, just put 'mailing list' as the subject. Thank you! And I hope this makes it a lot easier for everyone.


	5. A Date and A Convict

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

Episode 5: A Date and A Convict

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay?

****

Author: First of all, let me tell you that I MISSED THIS SO MUCH!!! *sniff* Heaven forbid I should ever disappear for FOUR months straight ever again…]

"He called you already? How was his trip back?" Keladry asked. She balanced the phone on one shoulder while washing her dishes with both her hands. The position was very uncomfortable for her neck, but she silently promised herself to switch shoulders in a few minutes. It was a beautiful morning in Tusaine, and she was having a wonderful beginning to a new day.

Faleron was getting used to staring at a blank communications screen. He made it a point though, to buy new COM screens for his friends on their birthdays. On his side of town, he was casually eating pancakes that he'd burnt. "It was fine. But he tells me that he's made plans to graduate early and enter the new Academy at Olorun."

"No kidding," Cleon yawned. It just so happened that they were using a three-way connection. He was also on the phone, and not a COM screen. 

"He seemed pretty excited about it. With ambition like his, I think he'll be trying to break _your _records, Kel." Faleron stirred his coffee and blew on it gently.

She started rinsing the glasses, turning off the water so she could hear her friends. "I'd like to see him try. My record's pretty hard to beat."

"You won't believe this," Faleron chuckled. "He said he's doing it because of you."

Cleon laughed raucously. "Aww... Kel, I think Merric has a crush on you! That is so _adorable_ I think I'm going to," here he stopped to laugh uncontrollably. When he calmed down, he wiped a tear from his eye. "Sorry. But wow, Kel, if you'd ever had a fan club before, I think you just found your new club president!"

She blushed furiously, mad that she _blushed_, and then mad at Cleon for suggesting it. "I never had a fan club. Just for staying at the Academy the least amount of time? Are you kidding me?" She set the glasses in their cabinet. She slammed it shut. "By Glory, I was in the Advisor Trebond's fan club!"

"President?" the two men asked simultaneously.

"No, I was not the president of the club," she replied dryly. _They think I was that obsessed?_

It was Faleron's turn to crack a joke. "It always seemed like you were obsessed with becoming like her."

She groaned inwardly, since groaning aloud was not one of her habits. "Well things have changed now. I just want to be me, and that's it."

"Sure. Whatever."

They continued talking for nearly twenty more minutes. Then, Faleron left for work. Cleon suddenly got the inspiration to call up Kalasin in Tortall and to bother her (after a long amount of pestering, Roald had caved in and given him her number). Keladry was actually taking a day off to furnish her apartment with a better sofa than the one already provided. The moving boxes were now gone. It wasn't much better than her dorm room at Headquarters, but it was a start. 

She'd spent most of her free time aside from hanging out with the Riders and the station making her new home feel comfortable. It was very different from living in a standard issue dorm room. She had to get her own dishes and regularly go grocery shopping. There was no public cafeteria and no training center. If she wished to work out, she had to do that in a gym two blocks away or had to settle for aerobics in her apartment instead. 

She hung the wash towel on its hook in the kitchen and started for her bedroom. She wondered if Lalasa was free to go furniture shopping. The Carthakian woman was a good bargain hunter, quality not compromised. Keladry scratched the idea when she realized that if Faleron was working, then Lalasa probably was, too. It would be wrong for Lalasa to ask for a day off, too, since Ms. Sarrasri constantly let her three most trusted employees off to do things with Kel and the others.

Furniture shopping would have to be a one-woman job, then. Keladry did things on her own all the time. Furniture shopping would have to become one of those things. After all, she was an independent person. For the longest time, the only friends she'd ever had were Neal and Owen. And even then, there were many things she didn't do with them. Like furniture shopping. Or anything that was outside of HQ.

"I'm getting too fixated on this. How weird is that?" she murmured to herself. 

Before reaching her closet, a sudden sound explosion came from above. Keladry's hands immediately went over her ears. Little bits of ceiling plaster rained down on her head. She coughed away the dust and looked up, squinting her eyes just in case any plaster bits might fall in them. 

The echo of the explosion died down. It still made her ears ring. Whoever was closer must have been deaf by now. Even though it wouldn't help, she rubbed her ears and shook her head vigorously. 

"What happened?" she wondered aloud. _Who lives above me?_

She went down a quick mental list of the fourth floor's residents. It wasn't strong and silent Prosper. He lived next door to Fianola and _she _lived at the end of the hall. It wasn't Lerant, or Qasim. Qasim was at work. It wasn't Dom, whose windows were now fixed. Dom was probably at work already, just like Qasim. Seaver and his pets? No. It wasn't him.

"YUKI!" a male voice shouted. It sounded like Lerant yelling at the top of his lungs and coughing. 

Keladry darted over to her window and slid it open. She leaned out and twisted around to look up. The windows to Yuki's apartment above hers were open, and smoke was blowing out. Afraid for her friend's safety, she ran out of her apartment and to the elevator at break-neck speed.

Stefan was already in the elevator when it reached her floor. He looked pissed. Steam was ready to come out of his ears. She was sure that an apple couldn't become redder than his face.

"If it be what I think t'is, then I am giving that girl such a big fat fine, it'll make 'er head spin!"

She felt a wave of sympathy for her Eastern Yamani friend, though she had to admit that she thought it was mostly likely Yuki, as well. It wasn't that wise to try out explosives or any kind inside the building. Especially when it was Stefan's building. But according to the rest of the Riders, Yuki was literally obsessed.

When they arrived on the Riders' floor, smoke filled the halls, originating from Yuki's room. Prosper and Seaver were holding portable fans in their arms, trying to blow the smoke down one end of the hall and out the window. Seaver almost tripped over the cord to his fan, but caught himself. Both men had bandannas tied over the lower halves of their faces. 

Neal was in the background somewhere, opening more windows. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt with holes in the sleeves. He must have toppled right out of bed when he'd heard the explosion. In one hand he held a cordless phone that he yelled into, giving details about the situation. She couldn't hear him that well anyway, what with her ears ringing like they were. It was probably the reason he yelled.

Keladry lifted the front of her shirt over her nose and mouth. Then the female officer ran toward the open door of Yuki's apartment. Before she could enter, Lerant burst out. He was dragging Yuki out with him by the arm. They fell to the floor, coughing and struggling to get breathable air. 

"What happened?" she said loudly. Her ears were still feeling weird. If hers were, then Yuki and Lerant must have been deaf. She hauled them up and helped lean them against the wall. In the meantime, Stefan broke into a glass case on the hallway wall and took out the fire extinguisher. The sound of glass breaking hardly registered in her mind. Her ears were now beyond feeling weird. The middle-aged landlord ran inside Yuki's apartment, ready to extinguish any fires in her kitchen.

A few more residents of the first floor came up the elevators-- Buri's people, mostly-- and two of Flyndon's best men who lived on the second floor. Cleon rushed up as well, eyes wide and worried for the safety of his friends. They helped to fan the smoke away and assisted Stefan in purging the kitchen of smoke. The source of smoke was dealt with, the extinguisher's foam all over the floor.

Later, everyone was standing or sitting in the hall. A full morning of clearing the air had exhausted everyone, especially the Riders. More fans had been set up, and the air conditioning was on full blast. Stefan was raging on and on about how much trouble had been caused, and just how much the damages were. For once, Yuki felt just as helpless and fragile as she looked. Lerant tried to hug her with one arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off.

"I didn't mean for it to go off. I was just moving it, then it slipped," she whispered, staring hard at the floor. Her sadness was suddenly replaced by a strange determination. "Now I know how powerful it was! No longer will I be limited to explosives like a regular dem-expert. I can make smoke bombs, too! And maybe, just maybe, I can make tear gas." She tapped her chin. "Of course, I'd have to get some help from maybe… Seaver. He's good with science. Well, biological science, but…"

Lerant groaned. "Yuki!"

She blinked innocently at him. "What?"

Keladry intercepted Stefan before he could get closer to the Rider. "Uh, this was really all an accident. Why don't we just go down stairs and write the stupid accident reports, then take some time off to cool down…"

The grouchy old man snorted. "Riders' Own always causing me trouble… This is just like those animals that boy be keepin', or that Dom idiot who was messing with the circuit box… or the accident in the garage with that… that _teenage girl_!"

"Good thing Fia's not here," Seaver muttered. "She's too proud of her driving."

Keladry sat down on the carpeted hallway floor, trying to catch her breath. _What a morning…_

"What is so wrong with experimenting with new things? Change is good!" Yuki argued with Lerant. The two continued bickering, even with the others' shouts for them to shut up. Keladry smiled inwardly. Even with all this trouble hanging over their heads, the Riders endured— very well, she might add.

Lerant and Yuki weren't even pretending to be worried about the disaster that had just occurred. It sounded more like an awry experiment when one heard the words coming from their mouths. Cleon went back to his apartment, probably to carry on his prank phone calls to Kalasin back in Tortall. Prosper and Seaver were now making the best of things and finishing breakfast out in the hall—which consisted of hardboiled eggs, orange slices, and strangely enough…smoked sausage.

"Hey, Kel, have you ever had such a 'rude awakening'?" Neal asked, a hint of a smile on his face. He rubbed his right ear, as if he was still having problems hearing. The phone was tucked into the waistband of his sweatpants.

"No. But then again, I don't sleep in like you do."

He yawned. "Yeah. I know."

She was going to talk more to him, but her pager started vibrating. Neal held up his hand and waved her away in an understanding gesture. He went off to join Prosper and Seaver for breakfast. Keladry lifted her arm, glancing at the wrist-worn mechanism. It was Chief Flyndon. She stood up, grumbling to herself how this couldn't have come at a worse time. She was tired now, and her 'wonderful beginning to a new day' was promptly fading.

__

How could I have work today? It's my day off! She thought furiously. _I'm supposed to be furniture shopping. I want to shop for furniture!_ At the end of the hall right before the elevator, she stopped—shocked at her own thoughts. She actually wanted to shop for furniture…like a normal person, who didn't have to worry about the dangers in her job and the strangeness of her neighbors. 

"Are you okay?" someone asked. The man was tall with thick black hair. He was most likely one of Flyndon's officers, roomed on the second floor. He looked like the type to be on the cover of a romance novel with his shirt carelessly unbuttoned. Strong chin, smothering eyes, and perfect straight nose. 

Keladry ignored the urge to ask if his name was Pierre or some other exotic name of the sort. She shook her head quickly, a bit too quickly. Her thoughts were embarrassing, as well as disrespectful to him. After all, men like that weren't the stereotypical romance novel cover models. "Er, no. I'm fine. Just tired. Have to see Whiteford."

__

Can't even form coherent sentences? I must be close to falling over and snoring. She rubbed at her eyes and tried to suppress a yawn. It came anyway, and she covered her mouth like she always did. Courtesy and etiquette after all…

"Oh." The man most likely named Pierre or Jean Luke walked away, a definite model-like swagger to his stride. The thought crossed her mind that men like that shouldn't be in law enforcement. They were too unreal for the likes of her, too much the movie star only acting as a cop. She disliked those types of people. It was a little biased, but Keladry couldn't help thinking it. She frowned and wondered what in the world had brought on that bout of cynical thoughts on the dark dashing type she'd just encountered.

The elevator door in front of her opened. Joren peered out, looking past her and at the rest of the people still gathered in the halls with the portable fans. He was not in uniform, but simply a pair of faded and worn blue jeans and wearing a black T-shirt. One of those days, Kel had it in her to find out if he owned something else besides the black T-shirt and jeans—maybe a nice blue tie if she was lucky. 

Joren couldn't guess what was on her mind and simply asked, "Who did it?"

She didn't feel like seeing her partner lecture Yuki. If Stefan wasn't able to make Yuki feel bad, then Joren would probably be the one to do it. She pushed past him and into the elevator. "It's done with. It's none of your _concern_." She glared at him. "So where were _you_?" _It's not as if he did anything to _help.

He stepped back into the elevator and pressed the doors-closed button. The metal doors slid closed and the elevator began its descent to the next floor. It was very brief. Before she knew it, the elevator stopped, creating that flip-flop in her stomach when it did stop. She took less than a second to adjust and stepped out onto her floor again. Joren followed.

"Well?" she asked, walking ahead of him so she didn't have to look at him.

"I was out early."

She stopped and turned. "Out where?"

He shot her down. "It's done with. It's none of your _concern_."

And he entered his room, the door sliding shut after him. Keladry wouldn't expect any better. He was always going to be like that. She honestly didn't know what possessed her to ask him where he'd been when she knew he wasn't going to give a straight answer. It was just like her thoughts about that man upstairs, the possible-Pierre. 

__

You need a day off. She told herself. _But at this rate,_ She glanced at her pager. _I'm never going to get one…_

~~

Lalasa Isran drummed her fingers on the desktop. Daine worked with people nearly everywhere. There was never a dull moment with her. Except this moment. _This_ moment, Numair was visiting and Roald was driving them around the city while she was stuck back at the home office trying to tidy things up. Faleron had been here briefly, but then Daine had paged him to go downtown to her proper office and meet with some people there. That still left Lalasa by herself, doing menial maid-like tasks. It wasn't that Lalasa was complaining. She was actually very glad to do the work. 

After all, she was paid and housed. She ate well. She got enough time off to spend with Roald and her friends. So the last part wasn't entirely true. She couldn't remember the last time she was hanging out with Kel or even Cleon and Faleron. Or Neal. It just didn't happen that way with everyone's new schedules.

Late at night, when she was still awake, Lalasa recalled the time she spent with her friends running away from Tortall and feigning allegiance with her father, Ozorne Tasikhe. She loved her father for giving her life. As for loving him for being him self, well… she couldn't do that. Not anymore. Though the times were perilous, it was also a happy time for her. Kel, Roald, her… _all_ of them had become so close during that time. If they hadn't, Roger and Ozorne would have won. 

They weren't running around the country and the Yamanis anymore. They were rooted to one spot to spend their lives. Although they lived closer than they had before meeting, in spirit, some people had drifted.

Kel gravitated toward the Riders or to her new superiors. Neal did the same, or else to complete strangers at the nightclubs he went to. She and Roald hadn't spent much time with them aside the dinner invitation from their DJPF friends. Only Faleron and Cleon remained as they were. 

The two young men would always be best friends, though she would never figure out why. 

She kicked the bottom of the desk angrily. It was a random action, which soon made her grab her foot and wince. That was all right. She was frustrated and becoming depressed. If she didn't do something soon to cease these melancholy feelings, then who knows what would happen?

"I'll go out to dinner in a nice restaurant with Roald tomorrow evening. That always cheers me up," she whispered to herself. The silence that followed irked her. She started humming a tune from the radio, determined not to hear the silence of an empty house and a nagging voice in her deep subconscious.

Roald was the solid, unchanging person in her life. He was the strong and silent type, except not as strong or silent as one may think. He had his moments of flowing conversation, poignant and deeply moving in some words, casual and elegant in others, usually with his personal friends. He was not a fighter like Cleon or Joren. He didn't have their strength. 

__

He doesn't need to, she reasoned. Roald didn't need anything at all. He could live a static life and never get bored. Lalasa actually did. She'd lived an unstable life. Her father moved her from place to place, or else she had to do it herself. She knew she wanted something the opposite of her to keep her anchored to Earth… some _one_. And that person was Roald. 

He may have been content with an unchanging life (as compared to the radically, perpetually moving life of a politician) but she didn't. And she would do her best to have some excitement every now and then. 

He liked quiet spots with views. He didn't like crowded places unless the entertainment was really nice. She practically spent a good 50% of her life in nightclubs. If he didn't want to go there as much as her, he did not have to go. It was the little things that mattered to her. Holding hands, fingers laced… huddling together when the winds picked up at the beach…

Griffin's Nest was the perfect restaurant. Quiet, unobtrusive, very secluded, and a view of a manmade pond where the city's children floated their handcrafted boats—the best place to take him. She could not remember what type of food they served there, but it didn't matter. She and Roald would go there tomorrow and all her icky feelings would vanish. 

~~

Keladry leant against the wall. She'd been waiting for the elevator to come down. Not many people were working that day. The station actually remained pretty calm. It was still early in the day. Not many criminals to be arrested in the morning, nor disasters that would plunge the city into chaos. She doubted the peace would last for long, but she would revel in the tranquility for as long as she could.

"You look like you need this more than I do."

She snapped out of her thoughts. The elevator doors were open and there was Dom, holding out a Styrofoam cup that probably contained black coffee. She took the hot drink from him. Her nostrils were filled with a pleasant earthy aroma, warming her insides without even sipping from the drink. The steam rose up in little disappearing wisps.

"Mmm… thanks," she told him. 

Dom nodded. He had circles under his eyes, a clear indication of his lack of sleep. Usually when Kel saw him, he was very energetic and outgoing. Even late into the night, or early into the morning, Dom had a gift for being vibrant. She now wondered if coffee had anything to do with it.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" she asked, a little concerned for his lack of usual enthusiasm.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Nah. I'm fine. I was on my way to the lounge anyway. Have you seen my God-brother anywhere?"

She thought back to earlier that morning. "Yeah. He's at home."

"He called me after Yuki's little experiment went up in smoke—literally," Dom chuckled. 

__

Ah. That answers the question whom was Neal talking to…

"I had actually planned on getting Qasim and heading back home to see what's up with Yuki before Raoul does."

"Ah." It was a piece of information she could have cared less about knowing (for the mere fact that she had to see Flyndon ASAP and if she didn't hurry, her head was going to be served on a platter), but Dom was being polite. She glanced at her wrist again. The pager message was the same as she'd last checked. Trying to find an unoffending path out of the conversation, she shrugged. "I've got to go up. Whiteford's waiting."

"Gotcha." He knew what _that_ was like. "See you later then."

She entered the elevator, waving to Dom as he left down a different hall to the lounge. She took a careful sip of the coffee. She did not have coffee on a regular basis. If she did, she usually preferred hers with cream, but if there was none to be had, that was fine. The warm beverage spread through her body, instantly waking her up from any past sluggishness. Who would have thought clearing the top floor of an apartment building of smoke would get so tiresome?

Upstairs, Chief Flyndon Whiteford anxiously waited outside his office. 

For a time, Buri had kept him company. She knew what was going down. After all, she'd been the one to tell him. One of her people had seen it with his own eyes and reported it to Buri right away. She in turn told Flyndon. At first, she'd debated with herself on whether or not she should have her own people take care of it instead of making Flyn do the work. She could have. After all, she could phrase any case so it fit her jurisdiction.

But why should she deprive her good friend Flyn of such fun?

"Thanks a _lot_, Buri," he grumbled.

She sipped her café mocha latte. "You're welcome." When he didn't say any more, she filled the gap. "So, who are you giving the case?"

"Hey! You didn't want to work this one, so don't try to act interested. I know you're not." He folded his arms across his chest. "Don't you have something to do besides standing here?"

She shrugged. Obviously, his irritability was making him impossible to manage. She might as well let it go. If Raoul had been told what she had told Flyndon, Raoul probably would have snatched up the case in a heartbeat. Too bad he was nowhere to be found that morning. Flyndon would have to take care of this himself.

"Okay, okay. I'll go. Good luck," she called over her shoulder as she walked away. Flyndon glared daggers at her retreating form. He could still hear the click of her heels on the tile though he turned his gaze away and concentrated staring at his own toes. 

Coincidentally, Keladry arrived on that floor the second Buri was completely out of range. She masked her resentment for being called on her day off. Sure, she knew that Flyndon had very few good officers since most went on the Immortals expedition. But still, why _her_?

"Mindelan!"

She cringed. Keladry saluted, not as briskly as she could have. "Sir."

His office doors opened. He gestured for her to go inside. She dragged herself through and then dumped herself unceremoniously on the chair before his desk. If Flyndon was appalled at her lack of manners in front of him, he didn't show it. He simply sat at his desk, turning the database screen around so she could see it as well.

"I very well know this is your day off. Not many people like to be interrupted on their day off, including me."

__

Oh, really? I couldn't tell. She thought to herself.

"Sir?"

He began typing rapidly on his keyboard. A few windows opened up on the screen, each listing random data that she skimmed over. Murder. Kidnapping. Extortion. She sat up taller now, her eyes opening a little wider. What in the world was this? It was the profile for one of the worst sorts of people.

A picture finally appeared. It was a mug shot of a man in his late thirties, Caucasian, with a nose like someone had once broken it and it had never healed right, and then heavy eyebrows that made his eyes look small and close together.

"This is Urfan Noll. A former associate of Ozorne Tasikhe before the latter double-crossed the former and set him up to get arrested by the DJPF down in Port Caynn. He escaped prison this week and left a threat in his cell to Ozorne."

__

Ozorne's dead, but he's still causing problems. That doesn't surprise me in the least. 

"Since our dear Mr. Tasikhe is dead, Noll is most likely to take his revenge upon those who were close to him. He's been spotted not too far from Tusaine." He drummed his fingers on the desktop. "It has been brought to my attention by Qasim this morning that you and your fellow transferees from Tortall are all acquaintances with Ms. Lalasa Isran, the personal assistant of Councilwoman Daine Sarassri. Is this true?"

Keladry nodded. She had no idea they still kept tabs on one of her best friends even if Ozorne was dead. "It is, sir." She knew what was coming. It was so plain to see. "She is a friend of mine."

"That being the case, I believe she would feel more comfortable if I assigned you as well as Officers Kennan, Queenscove, and Stone to protect her. Normally, I would not do something like this. Emotions get in the way. They cloud an officer's priorities. But your record is exemplary, and knowing Stone… emotions won't be a problem." (Only someone specifically waiting for it would have seen Keladry's jaw muscles clench at the last sentence.) "If Noll attacks, you must apprehend him. If you're lucky, Raoul might hear of it and have his Riders help you out. I know the man would love to drag Noll to the Federation Courts and increase his fame as Marshall."

The last part was done in a slightly sarcastic tone, so she assumed that Flyndon didn't really hold any grudge against Raoul for that sort of thing. But she might. Though Raoul was a great man, she wanted credit for this, and she'd be damned before her new friends the Riders would help out.

"If I may say, Sir, Officer Queenscove is not that acquainted with Ms. Isran as the rest of us are, though he'd probably be better received by her than Officer Stone."

He shook his head. "It does not matter. If he does not want the case, he does not have to take it. Stone, Kennan, and you, however, must take it, mandatory."

__

Lucky Neal. Why did I just get him out of a tough assignment? Oh, I'll ask him to help anyway.

More information was given to her regarding Urfan Noll. He was a hardened, callous man with a frightening reputation. It was not half so frightening as those stories she'd heard at the Academy about the world's worst criminals. But the idea of him going after Lalasa chilled Keladry to the bone. 

Keladry promised herself that nothing would happen to her friend. She'd worked hard her whole life so she would be able to protect people and right the wrongs of others. And she had done it well. First class and public recognition proved that. But sometimes, things got under her skin. Like the last time when she'd gotten her first assignment after vacation. 

She'd just received this new freedom of having fun and doing what she wanted. What had worried her was the possibility of losing the nerve she'd had before that… The focus and concentration that promoted her to first class had been the same focus and concentration to push people away. Now that she was learning not to push others away, could she still have that focus?

The answer had to be yes. It had to be. Or else…

People like Urfan Noll were going to be getting under her skin for a while. There was no getting around that. Still, it was okay. Because she was going to send him back to prison where he belonged. Lalasa would be safe. She would never worry about sins of her father. Sins whose punishment she would have inherited. 

The description of Noll was not half so bad as thought. He was a "hardened, callous man". Okay, she'd dealt with those before. Not many of them, but she did stop Roger, didn't she? The stories about him weren't half so bad as the stories told at the Academy to scare new cadets. She'd heard plenty of those. They did not affect her at all. She'd laughed at those stories and challenged them like she challenged many impossible things. To her, Noll was just a challenge

Half an hour later, she left with a folder tucked under her arm and a pounding headache.

~~

Faleron ate his sub sandwich, finally taking his lunch break after a long morning of meeting with people in place of his employer. Most of the men and women did not take as kindly to him as they would have Daine, but that was all right with him. He was able to answer questions and exchange the proper documents that Daine had told him to get from her home office. 

Cleon had come by since he'd been done calling Kalasin. He also ate a sub sandwich, deftly picking out the tomatoes and putting them down on the napkin. 

"You should eat those," Faleron commented.

"I don't like them with the pickles," he groused. He took a large bite, the food in his mouth making his cheeks puff out. The shorter man reached forward.

"Fine. I'll eat them. No sense in wasting food." He picked up the three slices and ate them one after another. While he licking his fingers, he asked, "So, what did Kalasin say when you called her?"

Cleon chewed for a bit more before swallowing. "First she got mad and asked me how I got her number. I hope she doesn't get mad at Roald." He pointed to the tall plastic cup by Faleron. "What is that?"

"Sweet tea. Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Thanks. I just need a sip." He found a spare napkin and wiped his hands. Afterwards, he threw the napkin into the trash bin nearby. There was a separate recycling bin for paper and another for plastic and another for aluminum. 

They were in the lounge of the building where Daine's proper office was. A few round white tables were set up. A bar was to the left. The food line was to the right. They sat by the window, which extended from ceiling to floor, looking over the busy city below. There was a small river that went through a section of downtown Tusaine. Right next to it was this mega-mall that had boardwalks and stands constructed right up to the water's edge. 

"So what else did she say? I mean-- did she hang up in your face?"

The redhead laughed. "No, not really. She's cooler than that." He took a small bite and chewed as he talked. He knew Faleron didn't mind too much about his manners because they were just two guys having lunch and talking about women. Besides, it wasn't like chunks of food were falling from his mouth. "So, she calmly asks me how I get the number. I try not to tell her by mentioning that I got a poem for her." He swallowed. "She sighs like she hates having to be nice to me and then she says she honestly couldn't figure out the last ones I sent her."

"Oh, you mean the ones where you called her teardrop?"

"As if there's anything wrong with that!" Cleon blushed. 

Faleron reached across the table to take back his cup and drink from it. "So what happened after that?"

"We actually talked for a while. But she kind of had that tone that tells you that she'd rather not be talking to you," he started making some hand gestures before biting down again on his sandwich. He chewed for a bit and swallowed again. "So that went on until the explosion."

Fal arched one eyebrow. "Explosion?"

"I'll tell you about it later. But back to my fox." Ever since that after party on the night of Cleon and Kel's re-induction ceremony, he affectionately referred to Kalasin as his resentful fox. Roald and Kalasin were honestly not amused at all, but Faleron thought it was a riot (and as Cleon knew, very few things truly made Faleron laugh whole-heartedly). "She's busy working for Mr. Swoop and his wife, the Lioness. I asked her if she'd ever been to Tusaine."

"Is Kalasin going to visit her brother anytime soon? You could see her then."

"I don't know, man. Even if she did come down here, I'm not too sure if that fox would want to hang with me."

His friend tipped his hat back farther on his head. "Hey, where's that never-ending, annoying confidence that you have? You never let that sort of thing stop you before, even when they throw rotten vegetables at you."

"Good point. Thanks for bringing that up! You're smart, dude."

"Well of course. Somebody has to do the thinking around here, Kennan."

Cleon stuck out his tongue at him and crossed his eyes. Faleron kicked him under the table, eliciting a yelp from his best friend. After that, they lapsed into another conversation. This time it was directed at women in general. They'd finished lunch for ten minutes before Cleon's pager went off.

"Hey… it's Kel."

"Why doesn't she just talk to you? You guys have call capability on those pager things now, don't you? Goes with the first class status, right?" the shorter asked. He glanced at his own civilian ID and pager, a worn model that was close to obsolete.

The other man scratched his head. "Yeah, but she wants me to go home and see her right now." He showed the message to him. "Want to come?"

Faleron chuckled. He stood up and pushed his chair under the table. "Unlike you, Kennan—with your carefree, make-your-own-hours job, I work 9 to 5 today. Maybe next time."

"Okay then." He also stood up, moving his chair under the table as an afterthought. They left the lounge, adjusting their belts after eating a satisfying meal.

"So, Fal…"

"Yes, chap?"

Deciding to ignore Fal's constant use of words like 'chap' and 'fellow', Cleon said, "So how _is_ the wild stallion's love life going? Oh, wait… I should probably ask Fia."

"Cleon!"

"It works out very well. She is my neighbor after all," the redhead continued, disregarding the glares he received. "I mean, if her own friends won't protect her from a vicious, womanizing hunk of testosterone like you… who will?"

"…"

"OW! Come on, Fal, I was just joking!"

~~

Keladry parked the squad car in a sub level of the garage. She went to the shoddy elevator, hoping that it wouldn't stall while she was inside. It didn't. She exited when the doors opened again and she moved toward the daylight that streamed from the garage opening.

The sounds of metal hitting metal in a clashing jumble caught her attention. She wondered if it was Qasim at first. Then she knew it was not. He was at the station, with Dom. That left only one other person.

"Joren."

He looked up, a smudge of something dark on his pale cheek. There he sat on a stool in front of her bike, doing things that she did not know—didn't care to know. She knew bits and fragments of the names of the parts he held, or the things he was doing, but she did not know enough. Her mind was constantly thinking of other things, and wouldn't be distracted by that.

Her partner waited for her to continue speaking. When she didn't, he supposed that she was zoning out or something just as pointless. So he stood. He went on watching her as he bent down to wipe his hands on a rag that was set on his toolbox. "You wanted something, Mindelan? Otherwise, go away. I'm not working with you looking over my shoulder."

She blinked out of her semi-trance. "Uh, no. Not about my bike. We have an assignment."

It felt as if someone had flipped on a switch inside of him marked 'Job Mode'. The aura around him altered itself suddenly, ready to deal with complex situations. Be it some ungodly creature barreling into the garage or a barrage of bullets from an unseen assassin, he was indubitably prepared. "An assignment." The word was crisp from his tongue. An expression briefly crossed his face that communicated that he was considering something else. "You know, I'm technically not your partner anymore."

That was true. Wyldon and Flyndon had been sending them on separate cases for a while. But in the large scheme of things, she still considered them partners. And that was mostly because they were still stuck with each other whenever an important mission like the one they just got came around. 

"Look. You, Cleon, and I are working this one. It's not arguable."

"Fine," he shrugged. "And it's about…?"

"Urfan Noll escaped from prison. Ozorne had betrayed him. That's how Noll got caught. Now that Noll's out, he's looking to get some sort of revenge on Ozorne, but that's sort of impossible since the man's dead."

Joren expertly evaluated the information from his memory with what she now informed him. "Isran."

"Bingo." Keladry took a step backwards, pointing her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm going up to call Lalasa personally. I already paged Cleon. He's on his way. If Neal's not doing anything, I'll ask him if he's interested in helping." Keladry smiled inwardly. Talking to Joren that time turned out pretty non-confrontational. So it was in fact possible for them to talk for two minutes without suddenly provoking each other. 

She'd taken six steps when Joren called back to her. She turned, wondering what he had to say to ruin her semi-happy moment. "Yes?"

"Don't call Isran."

So much for non-confrontational.

"Why not?" she frowned. "She has to know about this. This man may be out to kill her!" Nothing he could have said would have sounded more ridiculous than to not tell Lalasa about Noll. After all, if someone out there were plotting revenge against her for something _her_ dead father had done, Keladry would have wanted to know (not that her father was dead _or_ a criminal). How could Joren tell her not to call Lalasa?

He readily explained. "We need her to lure Noll out into the open. There's no way we can find him otherwise."

Keladry thought for a moment. "A bartender downtown takes bribes for information. I'm sure--"

"I already considered that," Joren snapped. "Remember," he hissed, "Tusaine is _my_ territory. I'd know if a man were able to spit out facts we need."

Territory, like some predator having staked his claims and marked his borders. She mentally shied away from the idea of it and let her partner continue.

"And besides, Noll is experienced. He'll know better than to come out of hiding before the time he chooses to kill her. And it won't be some poison in a soup. He'll want to make Isran suffer."

__

So he knows the mind of a criminal. Though scary it is, somehow that doesn't surprise me.

"Just call her and find out her plans for the next couple of days. We'll watch her from the shadows."

Before she could protest again, he pointed to the exit of the garage. She frowned and tried to speak. Once again, he stabbed his finger in the direction of the exit, silently telling her to go. Feeling oddly like a child that had just been sent to her room, Keladry gave up and departed. But not before muttering under her breath how much she ought to deck him. 

When Keladry arrived upstairs, Neal was talking to Dom via phone. She let herself in and waved. Her friend looked up from his newspaper—the comics and horoscopes—and grinned. 

"Hey, Kel's here. I'll talk to you later, man. Bye." He hung up. "So! What's up, Tough Stuff?"

She took a seat across from him, hearing the screech of the chair legs on the linoleum floor. She picked up her chair a centimeter to move it and so, avoided creating more offending noise. "What work have you been doing lately?"

He chuckled. "The best damn work a man could get. I patrol at the riverside mall or I'm a school crossing guard." When he observed her wide perplexed eyes, he started laughing harder. "For being in first class all these years, I've never had such easy work. It's a dream come true… like the Chief doesn't trust me with anything. I LOVE it!"

"That's nothing to be proud of, Neal."

"I think it is. I mean, big first class paycheck for measly third class work. Oh yeah."

She growled softly. "Haven't you done anything noteworthy at all since you got here?"

"Hmm…" He snapped his fingers. "As a matter o' fact, Chief sent me with a couple of his men for a few drug busts and then I assisted in a homicide case." He pouted. "That didn't last long though. The suspect turned himself in after going insane with guilt." A fly buzzed around his head. He swatted it away, but continued to follow its movement with his eyes. "Uh… you were saying?"

"Yeah. Stone, Cleon, and I are going to be Lalasa's bodyguards… without her knowing… and we were wondering if you wanted to join us." She folded her hands in her lap now. She found herself amused by his continual attempts to get the fly that was circling his head like an orbiting moon.

He reached down to roll up his newspaper and held it up in the air. Neal continued to speak to her while his eyes were watching the offensive insect. "Well, it sounds like a definite change of pace. And I suppose," he stood up. His chair legs made a screeching noise while scraping across the kitchen floor. "That I should do a hard job every now and then to keep in shape." He swiped his newspaper through the air, barely missing the winged insect. Keladry fought hard not to smile. "I'm not as close to Lalasa as the rest of you are, but I'd like to be. So I guess…"

He gripped the newspaper in both hands and swung it like a baseball bat. He missed and hit the refrigerator, causing a couple of magnets and scraps of paper to fall off. The fly landed on the table in front of Keladry.

Without hesitation, she took into hand another piece of newspaper and rolled it up. Then, leaning across the table, dutifully squashed the fly to create a dark smudge on the tabletop. She regretfully glanced at the dark spot across the stock market report, but shrugged and deposited the newspaper in the recycling bin next to the refrigerator. Neal didn't have stocks anyway. At least she thought he didn't.

Neal unrolled his newspaper, his cheeks flushed, and sat. Keladry fixed him with a friendly gaze that prompted him to speak. 

"Uh. Sure. I'm in."

After that, Keladry went back to her own place so she could call Lalasa. She could still smell smoke from her open window, but decided not to go upstairs and see the Riders until after she made her call. While waiting for someone on the other end to answer, she wondered how close Noll was to Tusaine. Was it a good idea to stake out outside Daine's residence to keep an eye on those who lived inside? 

__

I'll talk to the guys about it later.

"Hello?"

"Hi, 'Lasa. It's me."

"Oh! Kel, hey. What do I owe the honor of this phone call, Hon?"

Keladry sat down on the floor in semi-lotus position. "Oh, nothing much. Are you going out tonight?"

There was a dramatic sigh from the other side. "No. I think Roald will be out driving Ms. Sarrasri and Mr. Salmalin until midnight. I don't feel like doing anything special. Just curling up to watch a scary movie with a big bowl of fat free popcorn. Why?"

"No reason. Just a pointless how-are-you-what's-up question. What about tomorrow?"

Lalasa giggled. "Oh, well tomorrow's a different matter! I'm going to surprise Roald with a dinner at the Griffin's Nest. There's a great review in the newspaper's food critic section." She shuffled around some papers. "I had it in front of me a few seconds ago. Lucky me, there was a spot open in reservations! I was afraid a couple of hours ago that I'd have to wait until next week."

"Wow. That's great. You and Roald never get bored, do you?"

"Uh," Lalasa's voice took a sudden drop for uneasiness. "No! Heheh… of course not."

Keladry's brow creased. "Lalasa?"

"We're fine. Everyday is a 'first date', you betcha!" she cheered, strained enough so that Kel noticed. The female DJPF officer decided to let it slide without probing any further. If they were truly the friends they claimed to be, Lalasa would confide in her on her own time. 

"I'm so happy for you. Anyway, the guys and I are going to be busy with a job, so… sorry if you can't reach us in the next couple of days."

Lalasa had made no plans to meet up with them. Still, the fact that Keladry had called to tell her made her feel better. It meant that she, Lalasa Isran, was still a person that Keladry considered in her mind regularly, a person that had to be informed of things just like any other close friend would be.

And Kel would never know how much she had cheered her up. For all she knew, Lalasa was blissfully grateful for her 'normal' life and didn't miss Kel at all. Keladry was honestly happy for her. And she would continue to be so. "I suppose I'll see you later. Have fun, and tell Roald I said hi."

"Sure thing. Bye."

"Bye."

Keladry hung up, disappointed in herself. At any given second, she'd had the chance to blurt out Lalasa's safety status. She could have told one of her closest friends that there was possibly a man whom Lalasa had never seen in person before out to kill her in cold blood. Odds were that this man was creeping towards Tusaine at a very fast rate, ready to wring her neck and strangle her. 

Instead, Keladry Mindelan made small chitchat. 

__

It was for the best. Stone's right. There's nothing else to lure Noll out of hiding with. It won't do Lalasa any good to worry her and make her hysterical. Hysterics only complicate things. 

Her thoughts did not justify the fact that she'd made Lalasa into bait. Keladry knew the feeling. She didn't like setting up others like this. But if it were all in the best interests of the potential victim… She threw the word 'victim' out of her head. Things weren't going to be like that because _she_ was a good officer—a very good officer. And no one would get hurt while she was on the job. 

Boosted by a bit of confidence, she decided to prove her calmness by proceeding to eat a late lunch, early dinner until her partners arrived. The refrigerator contained half of a large deli sandwich from last night. It called to her like honey to a bear. Not that she'd ever devour food with growls or other grizzly bear-type ways, but Keladry was definitely hungry enough to be capable of such things. 

~~

If she'd had that much orange juice to begin with, Cleon had now rid her of all of it. Neal regarded the empty plastic carton in the trash bin with much delight. And then he spotted a few empty bags of fat free potato chips. Too bad he'd just arrived. He wondered how long it took the sharpshooter to eat and drink that much. When he caught Kel's searing gaze, his smile faded and he shrugged. 

"I swear, he did the same thing to poor Faleron when we were watching a movie there a couple of weeks ago. When we went to the video rentals, he stopped by the convenience store next door for a couple of gallons of pulpy Tropicana."

"Can you really blame me?" Cleon shrugged. "Sunny Delight sucks."

Kel nudged Cleon with her elbow as the redhead walked by. "You are _so_ buying this week's groceries."

"It's Neal's turn!"

"Too bad. And remember, stick to the lists. This time, you can buy all the orange juice you want. Stop drinking _mine_," she scolded. 

Joren cleared his throat. "If we're done chatting now, children, I'd like to get this over with."

Neal folded his hands behind his head, trying not to comment on Joren's greater-than-thou attitude. He smiled amiably at the blonde. "What do you want us to do, buddy-boy?"

"Shut up for starters."

Keladry cut between the two of them before anything could escalate. Neal looked as if he were disappointed about being prevented from retaliating to Joren's lack of respect, but at the same time, he was relieved (Years at the Academy had taught him better than to mess with Joren— though he did happen to forget this occasionally). "Okay, and after that?"

Joren gladly continued. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could return to his normal lifestyle _away_ from the rest of them and unnoticed by the world. "Queenscove and Kennan, stakeout. Mindelan on standby."

Neither Cleon nor Neal had much a problem with that. Keladry did. 

"Why aren't I on stakeout?"

The blonde glared at her, also folding his arms. She could feel an insult coming a mile away. "Do you care to remember the last time I had you watch someone? You fell asleep and Faleron nearly blew your brains out."

Neal's eyes widened. "When did this happen? I know Fal used to be a thief and you guys fought, but no one ever told me he got the jump on Kel!"

Cleon laughed and slapped his knee. This did nothing to assure Neal. The fact that the redhead was laughing only made Neal a little queasy about the topic. "I remember that. When Fal robbed us, Joren and I were so pissed, you could have mistaken us for twins or something."

"Okay, _now_ I'm scared."

Keladry put all this aside. "That was once! I'd never fall asleep again. Especially not when one of my friends' lives is at stake."

"Put it this way," Cleon cut in, seeking to pacify her. "Unlike the Neal and I, staying up the whole entire night, you'll be rested to watch over Lalasa tomorrow. Nothing will happen to her tonight. I mean-- there's _no_ way that Noll could be here already."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Joren muttered. He glared at Keladry, as if she'd been solely responsible for all their troubles. How she _hated_ that look. With a roll of his eyes, he spoke again. "So are we all satisfied now?"

The three men stared at Keladry for her answer. She turned down their gazes with a quick sweeping glare at them and then reluctantly nodded her head. Cleon abruptly stood and whooped happily. Neal yanked him back down to his seat with a laugh. 

"Guys, I want you to make sure that Joren takes all precautions for Lalasa's safety. She's our friend. I don't want…" Keladry trailed off when she realized Joren was coming in closer range of hearing her whispered words to Cleon and Neal. She looked significantly at both her friends before turning around and breezing past a glaring Joren. 

Eight o'clock in the evening found Cleon and Neal sitting in a dark car (borrowed from one of Buri's people) parked outside Daine Sarrasri's residence, where Lalasa and Roald also lived. The car smelt of too many pine air fresheners that could be bought at fueling stations. Neal suggested cracking the windows to let in some of the night air. Cleon disagreed. He didn't like city air at night.

"It has a hint of smog in it wherever you go, even if you deny it," he said sagaciously, as if an expert on the subject.

The streetlamps were on. They made sure to stay well out of the glowing halos of light that it cast. The moths fluttered about the bright orbs of light. The nocturnal insects were the only other living things moving about besides the two officers sitting in the car. And even if another living soul passed by, no one should have been able to see the men parked in the shadows. 

Cleon checked the time. He pressed a button on the dashboard that briefly lit the clock in bright green numbers. They dimmed after three seconds. He sighed with an shrug, as if wanting to draw attention from an unseen audience. "This is _so_ boring."

Neal agreed wordlessly with a slight inclination of his head. He was sitting on the driver's side, snacking on a bag of chips. The incessant crunch of food in his mouth got on his companion's nerves a tiny bit. When Neal realized that he had less leg space than he thought, he reached under the seat and pulled on the lever that would move his seat backwards. Cleon took the welcome distraction as an opportunity to take a handful of chips for his own grumbling tummy.

"I wonder where Joren is. He didn't say what he was going to be doing tonight, did he?"

"No, he didn't. Doesn't surprise me."

"I bet you he's going to do something really important while we're sitting in this car and _he'll_ get all the credit."

Neal thought to himself. His expression communicated an odd sort of acceptance about the fact. "He's been doing that since our Academy days. Just like that whole Squealin' Nealan thing he tortured me with."

Cleon frowned. "…Squealin'… Nealan?"

Inside the house, Lalasa skimmed the newspaper while waiting for her popcorn in the microwave. Since she was to be the only one home until after midnight, she went ahead and made herself as comfortable as possible in thin cotton pajamas and a pair of fuzzy slippers. She knew they'd make her friends laugh, but she thought the night footwear was cute. Pausing a second to admire the adorable green slippers, she propped her feet on the tabletop and grinned. Then she resumed focus on the newspaper. 

"Where is it?" she muttered aloud. The constant hum of the microwave and sounds of kernels popping were the only other noises all around her. She hated this sort of loneliness. A big old place and no one but herself in it. It was like being in the middle of a library and having the urge to scream just so everyone would look up.

Not that popcorn kernels had eyes to look up _with_. 

A certain advertisement caught her eye. It was just the one she was looking for. A large bird with certain feline features in black ink sat atop a tower. Besides the tower was a table with a candle on top of it. Lalasa groped through her mess of newspaper sections and pens for a highlighter. She succeeded in finding a green dry erase marker and circled the advertisement and the address it gave with it.

With her task done, she went to the den where she planned to curl up on the couch and watch her movie. Normally, she would watch it in the Room, but no room in the new house had gained the title. Right from the start, a frightened young woman ran across the screen, shrieking like a banshee. Her blonde hair did nothing to conceal the fact that it was bleached hair. The rest of her physical attributes seemed just as Hollywood-derived as she was. 

Lalasa groaned inwardly. She had placed the remote on the coffee table in front of her, but she was far too lazy to stand and get it. So she couldn't stop the movie. That was fine with her. After all, it couldn't be that bad, could it?

"_Help_!" the actress in the movie yelled. The assailant in black with a raised dagger pursued her into the shadows. On cue, the music orchestrated purposely for eeriness chimed in. Suspense that was supposed to have been built up reserved itself for Lalasa's suspenseful musing about how long the movie would last. A scream, and the title appeared. The letters dripped in blood. _Return of the Shadow Monster Part 4_

Lalasa sighed. Where had all the good movies gone?

Outside, Cleon was determined to defend his spirited claim. Mountains would crumble. The sky would turn dark as the depths of a Hell-like abyss. The most ferocious demons could be called into existence by apocalyptic forces he knew nothing about. But he would still support his most dear opinions. 

"I happen to think she's a great actress! I mean—they brought her back to do part 4 of the movie series. I can't wait until the next one comes out."

Neal snickered. The amount of loyalty and sentiment that his friend put into these movies was nothing but entertaining. "Oh, I believe I can wait. In fact, I plan to avoid it entirely." He stroked his chin. "The only good use for those movies is having your date suddenly get frightened. Five seconds of a shrill scream, and she clings to you the rest of the way." His lips curled into a rather goofy smile. Then the smile became an even sillier grin. He gazed happily into space, probably reliving one of his more memorable dates. "Uh-huh."

"Don't you ever think about anything else?" his companion asked.

"Oh, sure I do. I'm not completely hopeless. Ask Kel." 

He nodded. He didn't need to ask Kel. "Well anyway, I still think that _Return of the Shadow Monster_ movies are the greatest. They're classics!" He made emphasizing hand gestures. "The director's a pretty cool guy. He created and wrote the whole thing! I think I have his autograph somewhere among my stuff."

"Uh, cool, I guess. Considering how weird those movies are..."

They argued a bit more about the greatness of cheap horror movies. Neal decided it was hopeless when Cleon started to talk about his affinity for the villains using modern methods rather than the traditional "beat 'em up, cut 'em up, stuff 'em in a dumpster" manner of senseless killing. 

It didn't matter to Neal. Any way he looked at it, there was a killer in the background that seemed almost invincible until the very end. Then a plot device like 'deus ex machina' gave the character last-minute courage or brains to become the hero or heroine of the sadly predictable story. Only those who were easily excited by the same things time and time again could ever appreciate it.

"Why are you giving me that funny look?" Cleon asked innocently.

Neal rolled his eyes. "No reason." 

Inside…

A loud slamming sound made Lalasa's heart skip a beat. It was a miracle she hadn't screamed. Instead, she held her breath. After a while, she began breathing normally again and attempted to calm her racing heart. What on earth was that noise? Was there a burglar in the house? _Don't get paranoid. That's impossible. Who'd be dumb enough to break into Daine's home?_ She rose from her place on the couch and warily made her way toward the origin of the sound. It turned out to be the kitchen.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

She received no reply. Becoming bolder, she called out a bit louder. Still, there was no reply. Lalasa glanced around her, searching for anything that could make such a loud noise.

__

BAM!

She nearly jumped a foot into the air with surprise. She whirled around to face what was obviously behind her. Her nerves settled as her gaze came upon the open window, the quaint little shutters slamming in upon the outer windowpane because of the wind. 

The Carthakian woman chuckled to herself. Her own fears had duped her into believing someone had broken into the house! And all it truly happened to be was the window shutters. Roald would probably laugh as well if he or anyone else were here. She made a mental note to relate the little occurrence to him when he and Daine arrived home. Hearing him laugh with her about how childish her fears were could most definitely cheer her up. 

Leaning over the counter from which the window was located over, she pulled in the shutters and set the latch, then carefully lowered the sliding glass of the window. After, she put the latch on that. _There_, she thought. _No more scaring poor little me with ridiculous little things_.

"Oh! The popcorn!" She mentally slapped her forehead and dashed over to the microwave, hoping her snack had not become cold. 

It was still very warm and the aroma filled her nostrils. It reminded her of carnivals. The smell of popcorn always did. She'd only been to one carnival as a child, and even then, one of her father's henchmen had taken her in Ozorne's place. Still, she had fun with Evan—the henchman—because he was nicer to her than most of her father's men. Absently, she wondered where Evan was now. Had he fought at the Immortals battle at the President's estate?

A shriek from the holo-screen in the living room called to her. One of the main damsel's friends was being chased. Lalasa shut the microwave after removing the bag of popcorn. She quickly dumped the movie snack into a large plastic bowl and deposited the now empty bag in the wastebasket. She started eating the delicious popcorn treat as she pushed the swinging kitchen door open with her shoulder. 

"Mmm… nothing like Orville Redenbacher popcorn and a cheesy slasher movie to pass the time," she said to herself for what must have been the fiftieth time that evening. 

As soon as the kitchen door ceased swinging on its hinges, Joren stepped out of the shadow of the refrigerator. Luckily for him, the humongous fridge was not next to the microwave or the table where Lalasa had sat with her newspapers. The other optional hiding place would have been the food pantry, and it was cramped enough as it was. No need to stuff a grown man in with all the cans and instant soup mixes. He'd only crush the cereal.

Joren knew that Lalasa kept her back to the kitchen door while watching her movie. Since she was lying on her side on top of the sofa, she probably wouldn't have a view of the door without sitting up first and _then_ turning around. This worked out fine with him. He could sneak out the kitchen without any difficulty and continue his preliminary check of the house. 

"Hmph. And Mindelan says I don't take the precautions for Isran's safety," he muttered inaudibly to himself, gloating in his efforts having proven his partner wrong. He nudged the kitchen door open, anticipating a squeak that the door's hinges might have. No sound. He proceeded to watch the sofa from where he was while slowly pushing the door a bit more and slipping out of the kitchen. 

Four young men and women were talking in nervous tones on the holo-screen—all with perfect magazine model appearances save for their distraught faces. Their voices had the effects of nails on a chalkboard to the young blonde infiltrator. Joren had the right mind to shoot that screen or at least destroy every single disk that the movie was recorded on... in every movie rental store… in every city in Mithros. It could be his one major contribution to society. 

Either that or assassinate the terrible creator of _The Shadow Monster_ series.

~~

"Cleon! I swear, if you mention that damn movie _one_ _more time…_"

The redhead bristled imperceptibly, spitefully snatching away the bag of chips from his companion's arms. He started munching away, but still spoke. "The man happens to be a Hollywood legend. And if you're just too boring and stupid to realize it, then you can't eat my chips!"

Neal could have strangled him. Cleon neglected the fact that the chips had been bought in a weak recompense for all the orange juice Cleon had bought with Neal's nobles and coppers. Before they had started their stakeout, Neal had sent Cleon on a quick food run. The sharpshooter took currency instead of credits because Neal honestly didn't trust Cleon with _his_ money where food was involved. It took Cleon three trips to finally get chips and non-orange juice drinks for the night. 

The older of the two wondered how long it took Faleron to get used to this. He knew Faleron's sweet tooth was far worse than Cleon's for certain, but at least Faleron didn't drive anyone crazy with it. 

"Man. Now I feel like watching the movie again."

"_I can't take it anymore!_"

~~

A slight rumbling in his lower abdomen indicated that Joren should have eaten a bit more than the scant amount of food he dared call dinner. If luck was with him at all, there might be crumbs left of whatever food Cleon or Neal brought with them in the car. Not that he'd seen them. But he suspected they'd bring as much. After all, two bored officers with nothing more to do than sit outside a council member's house had to have brought _something_. And since copious amounts of food were always first priority on at least Cleon's list, Joren could count on them to supply him with a light snack later.

Heck, he didn't even have to ask if they would spare him some food. There was probably enough to feed a family of five in that car with them. And Joren _would_ be taking some. After all, _he_ was doing all the work. 

Walking up and down the halls, he went inside each room. He made a thorough search as quick and efficient as he could make it before exiting the room again and moving on to the next. Checking out the bottom floor wouldn't be too bad. There weren't that many rooms. Most of the first floor space belonged to the living room and such other public rooms. 

The bedrooms upstairs were an entirely different story. He could imagine how many rooms were up there. And at the same time, how was he supposed to keep an eye on Lalasa?

He reasoned he could practically leap down the steps four at a time if he heard her scream. Or even better, hop the rail and just land like a cat on his feet. After falling off a couple of stories with a Stormwing as a cushion, Joren generally didn't fear his safety when leaping off heights. It made the blood in his veins sing.

On his way to the stairwell, he checked in on Lalasa. She remained in the same place as before, lying on her side on the sofa with the bowl of popcorn. The doors were locked. The windows were secured. The whole operation was going smoother than he thought it would. 

Once upstairs, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When he could make out boundaries and objects, he went on with his patrol. First up was Roald's bedroom on the right. 

A bookcase, a comm.-screen, a dresser, and his bed were the only large furnishings the young man had. A few framed photographs and gifts from Lalasa were scattered across the dresser top, and dirty laundry piled itself in the corner, leaving the floor bare. Joren didn't really expect much from him. After all, Roald had been raised to be a perfect, responsible politician for the 'people of tomorrow'. In fact, if the room _wasn't_ neat and orderly, Joren would have been shocked, figuratively speaking. 

He exited and made his way diagonally across the hall to the guest room where Councilman Numair would sleep during his visit. The whole room was meticulously decorated. He supposed that Daine wanted to impress any guests she had over. She _had_ to. Impressions were important in the world of politics. Or, so he heard. Numair's bags were unpacked and set beside the door leading to a private bathroom. A few random vases of flowers made Joren wrinkle his nose in distaste. It hardly was worth mentioning that he detested flowers. 

As Joren crossed the room to inspect the closet, he felt a subtle jolt from the floor. Not a real electrical jolt, but something that just made the floor shake for a second, something he felt through the soles of his feet. He'd heard nothing, but he knew someone else was moving around up there with him. Perhaps a window had opened and someone not watching his weight just jumped in, causing the slight jolt Joren had felt. 

He hand slowly moved toward his holster, fingers itching for the handle on one of his Desert Eagles. He wouldn't use the Quicksilver that Sam had given him. Not on this job. Not for scum like Noll.

~~

"Hey…" Cleon managed as he tried to release Neal's chokehold on him. 

"I warned you! You just wanted to drive me insane with all these mindless comments of yours, huh?" Neal accused, half-crazed by his companions constant babblings. If Neal had known way back when the two of them hung out at the Sand Piper in Seastone that Cleon was _this_ strange, then he would have volunteered Kel to go stakeout in his place. 

Cleon caught sight of something flashing in a window above the lit one through which he could see Lalasa. He pointed desperately to it. A strangled sound escaped his lips, trying very much to show Neal what was going on.

"Neal! Win…dow!" he coarsely croaked. Neal's grip loosened.

"Huh?"

Cleon took advantage of the moment and opened the car door, practically falling out head before feet onto the paved street. He skinned his elbow in the process. He winced and pointed. "Lalasa! There's…"

Neal squinted from where he sat in the diriver's seat. Then, he leaned over to Cleon's side and pushed the car door further open so he could see. Something else appeared in the window above Lalasa's. A small beam of light was haphazardly moving across the room. He cursed under his breath and got out of the car. The crumbs of chips spilled out onto the sidewalk. 

Cleon kicked his own door closed and felt around wildly for a gun—any gun— he might have on his person. When he came up with a revolver he kept for sentiment, he made an unrecognizable squeak of frustration and got into the car again to get the standard issue Glock gun in the glove compartment. 

Neal was already making his way across the street, avoiding the light of the street lamp and moving along the walls of neighboring buildings. He only had one gun, but then again, he wasn't as trigger-happy with it as his partner. 

"Neal!" Cleon hissed. "Keys! The glove compartment's locked!"

The older man impatiently reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys and threw them at the redhead without taking a precaution of aiming. Cleon barely jumped high enough to loop the key ring around his index finger. As soon as his feet touched ground, the sharpshooter, plopped down on his seat again, madly going through each key on the ring until the glove compartment opened.

"I'll go around back," Neal called in a stage whisper. He didn't know if there was anyone close nearby, but he wasn't taking any chances of anyone hearing him. "You go through the fire escape on the left. Don't let Lalasa see you!"

Finally, the compartment opened and Cleon was able to get the second gone and a spare magazine. He prayed he wouldn't have to shoot anyone. "A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

The overused line boosted his confidence. He shut the car door and sprinted away.

~~

Joren could feel it. He virtually glided down the upstairs hallway on the balls of his feet, careful not to make a sound. When he stopped outside Lalasa's room, he could barely hear the floor creak from someone's footsteps within. 

Noll. It had to be. Who else would sneak around in this fashion? 

Besides Joren, anyway. 

"Damn it!" a gruff voice cursed. Any doubt of an intruder vanished. There was no denying it now. Joren cocked his gun and prepared to burst in. 

"Ugh! Popcorn in my teeth! Yuck!" Lalasa groaned as she jogged up the stairs. Daine didn't keep floss in the bathroom downstairs. Lalasa would have to go to the one she shared with Roald. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head while groping for a switch along the wall that would turn the light fixtures on. 

Joren restrained himself from yelling out to the Carthakian woman a few insults of his own creation, but that would ruin a lot of things. He'd been the one telling everyone to keep her in the dark about Noll in the first place. With one final angry thought directed toward the person under his protection, he dove into the hallway closet where the towels and spare blankets were kept. He tumbled in among spare bottles of hotel style shampoo and soap cakes as well. A broom handle stuck into the middle of his back, but he gritted his teeth and bore it anyway.

Lalasa passed by without any thought to the closet at all. She found the switch for the hallway lights and flicked it on. Joren listened low for the sounds coming from Lalasa's room. They'd completely stopped. That was good. 

Wait. That was bad. 

What if Lalasa didn't hear anything at all and went in her room with the intruder still inside? Then she would be—

Joren now spent his energy restraining himself from kicking open the door and charging into Lalasa's room with a bloody war cry. It seemed very uncharacteristic for him to be having such thoughts. When a broom handle stabs one in the back and nostrils are invaded by the sickly sweet smells of too many soaps and cleansers in one place, certain things could drive one to the brink of insanity. Even for the likes of him.

He expected a good bonus on his next paycheck for this.

Lalasa, done with her flossing, left the bathroom while humming a random song. She entered her room, turning on the lights and ceiling fan as she found something to tie her hair back for the rest of the night. Joren stealthily escaped the closet and darted forward, ready to burst in the very moment Noll decided to attack Lalasa. 

__

Crack.

Glass. Glass breaking in long crack down the center of a window. That was the sound that caused Joren, Lalasa, and whatever intruder there was to freeze where they were. It wasn't coming from Lalasa's room. Nor was it coming from Joren's end of the hallway. 

It was actually coming from Daine's private end of the hallway. There was another one? Another invading person to deal with? Joren tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants as he ran as soundlessly as he could toward the other end of the hall. 

"What the…" Lalasa came out of her room. Fear struck her. She scrambled to the closet and retrieved the broom. It was a broom, yes, but the handle was thick and heavy. She could swing it without trouble. At least, she hoped she could. Of all the nights burglars picked to come, it had to be the night she was alone. Fate obvious had no regard for her. 

Joren could see the shadow of the figure. The stranger clumsily appeared at the entrance to Daine's room, bumping his shin on the doorframe and muffling swear words. The blonde glanced behind him. The light from the opposite end of the long winding hall did not reach his end. Perhaps Lalasa was being smart and calling the DJPF right that very moment. 

"Ugh!" the shadowed stranger grunted as he stumbled backwards into the master bedroom. Joren was upon him in a second. It was a quick tackle to the carpeted bedroom floor, Joren immediately making a chopping motion to the back of his opponent's neck and twisting his arms behind his back. He pressed the barrel of his gun to the middle of his captive's back.

That had gone far too easy. Something had to be wrong. 

"This is why I'm a sharpshooter, not a big bruising enforcer," his prisoner moaned into the carpet that his mouth was pressed up against. Joren sat rigid. 

"_Kennan_?" he whispered fiercely. He grabbed a fistful of the other's hair and squinted down at it in the darkness… a dark copper, but blatantly red pigment of hair. He grasped the jaw and turned him around just a bit. Then he flicked on the glowing light from his pager to see…pale freckles? 

The expert sharpshooter winced. "Stone… get that gun out of my back! That hurts!"

Joren released him. As soon as the taller man was on his feet, Joren grabbed him by the collar and hauled him toward the same window that Cleon had accidentally broken while trying to climb up through the fire escape. Before he knew what was going on, the dazed officer was shoved out onto the grid metal of the fire escape while Joren attempted to secure the cracked window behind them. 

"Get down the ladder now, you dolt!" Joren ordered while halfway twisting the locking mechanism on the strange latch of the window. When he slammed the window shut, it ought to have locked on the inside. 

Though he was still reeling from the tackle and the numbing blow to the back of his neck, Cleon clumsily did as he was told. He scampered down and waited for Joren to get down before he would turn tail and run. They ran (or at least, Joren ran and dragged Cleon behind him) around the back, where the redhead quickly explained what he and Neal had planned to do.

"I can't believe you were in there! You should have told us you were going to be in there!" Cleon groused. "Neal was right! You are just in it to get all the credit for yourself!"

"Shut up, Kennan. Now where's Queenscove?"

"He said he was coming in this way," he indicated the back entrance rarely used by Daine. The furnace was located there. And that was all. He couldn't imagine finding his way through the thick metal door that was covered in a layer of rust. 

The lock on the door was broken. Obviously Neal had been too impatient to be discreet about leaving a trail of evidence. The two officers entered the building once again, this time aware of each other's presence so as not to confuse each other with the enemy again. 

~~

Lalasa inspected the window in Daine's room. The way the inner latch was set told her that no one had been able to enter. They'd just broken the glass. Still, that was proof enough. Someone that very night had tried to get inside this home. She had to tell her employer in the morning, if not that very night. 

The doorbell rang. 

Lalasa frowned. Who would visit at this time of night?

Still carrying the broom with her, she ran downstairs and skidded to the main entrance. Her breathing was still hard, but she pressed the button for the intercom anyway. "Who… who is it?"

"Just me, Neal. Can I come in?"

Lalasa undid the locks on the door. She let the broom stand against the corner and let the door swing open. There before her was Neal, snug in a warm looking jacket. The late night air came in visible wisps from his lips. She shivered as the coldness seeped into the house. "Hi. What are you doing here?"

Neal stepped inside, closing the door for her. He rubbed his hands together trying to warm himself. "Oh, well, I just got ditched by the others. Turned out they didn't need me working with them after all. You know how it goes. I'm rather happy about it. The more rest for me, eh?" He took off his jacket and hung it on the wooden coat rack beside the door. "I was passing along this side of town and I was hoping Roald wanted to go rent videogames or something. I'm desperate for company."

She laughed, so relieved that someone she knew was now there with her. Of course, she didn't know Neal that well. This was an excellent opportunity to get to know him. She had nothing to be afraid of now. Nothing would happen while he was with her. Keladry knew Neal long before Kel knew her. That was enough for Lalasa to trust him. "Don't you go to nightclubs or something?"

"I do, I do. But tonight I didn't feel like dancing with strangers. I felt like chilling out with friends." He rubbed his arms. "Speaking of chilled…"

Lalasa gasped. "Oh! Come with me. I'll get you something like hot cocoa. Do you like hot cocoa, darlin'?"

"Oh, sure. Sounds great." He followed her to the kitchen, eyeing everything around him with distrust. From behind a thin wall that separated the back furnace room from the kitchen, Joren and Cleon were eavesdropping. They had no idea how Neal had gotten back out of the building and around the front of the house, but he had. It was a smart move. Lalasa had to be distracted from upstairs and with another man in the house, the intruder was sure not to attack—not without risk to himself. 

Lalasa warmed the mug of water in the microwave while she searched the food pantry for a packet of cocoa mix. She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Neal about the cracked window upstairs. When the timer on the microwave went off, she couldn't help it. She asked.

Neal perked up. "Oh?"

She nodded as she removed the mug from the microwave and emptied the cocoa mix into it. She took a small spoon from a drawer of silverware and began stirring. "Yeah. It was so weird. If I'd been downstairs with the movie still on, I wouldn't have heard it. But I wasn't. And I did hear it!"

He seemed to be considering something. She would never know that he was contemplating whether or not he should lie. "Oh. I wasn't going to tell you this…"

"Wasn't going to tell me what?"

He accepted the steaming cocoa from her and blew on the surface gently. "Um," he rattled his brain for a response. "The reason I stopped by was because I saw a couple of hoodlums going crazy through the streets pulling little pranks on random houses. Not every house. Just one every couple of blocks. I saw them come near here. Before I knew it, I ended up here."

Lalasa growled. "You mean some punks did this? Some lowly, filthy punks with nothing better to do?"

He held up his hands in his defense, afraid she might take out her anger on something. "Whoa! Calm down!"

"Sorry. I'm just out of it tonight." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. 

"That's okay. We all get that way." He sipped his warm drink. "If you still feel kind of weird, go up to bed and try to sleep it off. I'll be down here until Roald and the others come home, okay?"

She seemed uncertain. "Are you sure about that? I mean—you don't have to go to all the trouble…"

"Aww, nonsense! I'm cool with it. Hey… you guys get those pay-per-view channels, don't you?" he grinned.

His cheery attitude reminded her of Cleon, except without all the strange and innocent goofiness. She couldn't help but give in and laugh. "Yes, we do. Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

He stood. "Okay then! Get yourself up to bed, and I will explore the wonders of 452 channels…"

They left the kitchen. He took the cocoa with him to the living room and set it down on a coaster on the coffee table. Lalasa headed towards the stairs. "Now don't flip to the home shopping channel. Somehow, everyone manages to fall asleep while watching that one."

Neal saluted. "Yes ma'am!"

"Goodnight. And thanks." She flashed him one more smile before heading up. Her fears left her and her spirits were lifted. Nothing bad would happen now. 

~~

Neal propped his feet up on the coffee table just as Joren and Cleon entered from the kitchen. Neal turned the holo-screen a little louder to drown out their conversation from Lalasa's ears overhead. His expression became as serious as the other two. They sat down and for a while, no one said anything. 

"While Lalasa was up there, I did a quick check of the ground floor. I didn't find anything. When I heard something above, I assumed Cleon was either fighting Noll, or being a bumbling idiot, so I snuck out the way I came and rung the doorbell to get Lalasa downstairs," Neal explained in detail. "You should have told us you were going to be here."

"Yeah. You nearly killed me up there," Cleon huffed. 

Neal frowned. "That was you?"

Joren didn't seem to take it as seriously as they did. "It doesn't matter. I heard someone up there before Cleon's blunder with the window." He paused. "I don't even want to know how it cracked." Here, the redhead blushed. "The point is: Noll is still out there. From the time Lalasa was in the bathroom and I was in the hallway closet, he must have gone downstairs and back out the house while Neal was in a different room."

"Are you sure? I mean, you didn't see anything at all with that flashlight of yours?" the oldest of them asked. 

"What the hell are you talking about, Queenscove? I didn't have a flashlight."

Cleon and Neal exchanged worried glances. Cleon gulped. "Are you sure? Because we saw you from the car. You were upstairs with a flashlight. Anyone could see it from the window."

Joren rolled his eyes. "I think I would know whether or not I was using a flashlight, Kennan." The same thought appeared in all their minds. The fourth unknown man, they presumed to be Noll. "Well. The bastard got lucky."

The three men sat silently surrounded by their own thoughts until an hour later when a car pulled up. Joren and Cleon exited through the back, making sure to replace the old lock with new one they found in the furnace. Neal walked to the kitchen with them. 

"Hmm. That's funny."

Joren froze. He spun around. "What?"

Neal pointed to the table. He started piling the newspaper sections neatly. "Lalasa hadn't left these so messy when she fixed me the hot cocoa. Guess I should have paid closer attention to what I was doing. I must have moved them around while we were talking."

Joren said nothing. He couldn't put his finger on it. He couldn't guess it. The feeling of being in a vulnerable position infuriated him. This particular sensation annoyed him. He'd scarcely felt it in his whole entire career. Joren would make short work of this infamous Noll as soon as he came close. He swore it.

~~

"Why is it that you have to watch everything I do?" Lalasa asked Keladry as she folded the laundry.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just thinking about things, " Kel replied. "We, um, never hang out anymore."

The older woman moved the neat stacks of clothing and towels to the side of the table. She rested her hands on her hips as she scrutinized the other young woman with her. "Usually I'm the complaining about these things. What's with _your_ sudden guilt trip?"

Keladry chuckled nervously. "No reason. I'm just here… as a friend. And hanging out is what friends do, right?"

Lalasa leaned toward her, her brow creasing. "Are you trying to get a favor from me?"

"No! It's nothing like that!"

"Are you sure? Because if you need something, just tell me. It's what friends do, right?" she replied with a hint of sarcasm. She pointed to the stack of towels, indicating for Keladry to help her carry them to the closet. "Anyway, I have to pick out a dress for tonight. I haven't been to the Griffin's Nest; I'm not sure how 'dressed up' I should be."

Keladry picked up the stack and followed Lalasa out of the small room, trying to keep up with the shorter woman's surprisingly fast strides. They deposited the surplus towels in the closet hallway. Then, the clothing was put away. After all the chores were done, Keladry remained with Lalasa, keeping her company the latter of the day. She didn't let the other woman out of her sight for more than three minutes.

Lalasa never knew that Kel could annoy her. But a lot of things seemed to be going against her expectations and assumptions. This happened to be one of them.

"Your pager," Lalasa lazily pointed to Keladry's wrist. "Someone's paging you, dear." _Please. Please, make her go away. Just for today. I'm not spiteful towards her… I just want her to give me some breathing space. She acts like I have a terminal disease that's going to kill me any second!_

The other girl read the message. It came from Joren, telling her to meet him, Cleon, and Neal at Faleron's place, only a couple of minutes' drive from Daine's. She wondered why Faleron insisted on living on his own instead of boarding along with Lalasa and Roald. But then again, Faleron was a particular person. 

She looked up at Lalasa's expectant face. Her hand moved to rub the back of her neck nervously, uncomfortable at the watchful eyes. "I have to see the guys." She forced a chuckle. "Can't leave 'em alone for a minute."

Lalasa nodded. "That's okay. I have to help Ms. Sarrasri go through some papers anyway after I'm done folding the laundry."

Keladry left, well aware that her friend was safe because there were several other people in the house with her. There was no reason to panic, no reason to fear. And yet, a cold lead weight of _dread_ settled at the bottom of her stomach. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the guys had yet to report to her about last night's stakeout. Was that why they wanted her to see them?

A driver from behind yelled at her. Her eyes widened. The light had turned green. Keladry pressed her foot down on the accelerator, reaching the speed limit faster in order to make up for the few seconds she'd zoned out. The driver from behind sped up and passed her, throwing her a nasty glance before overtaking her. 

She made mental note of the car's license plate. It was one thing to pass another car while going over the speed limit (and thereby an infraction of the rules of the road) but it was an entirely different thing to do this to Keladry when she was not in a mood to deal with annoyances in a civil manner.

Civil? Oh, at this moment, the word was not in her vocabulary. More than likely, one phone call and the poor sap would find his nice convertible in the city impound. Authority was good.

A few minutes later, she pulled into the resident parking lot of Faleron's apartment building. She nearly stepped on a paper cup when she put her foot out of the car. Cursing silently, she opened the door wider so she could step around it. This resulted in her door hitting the parked hover car beside her—a brand new hover car. 

She wished she had a hover car. Everyone did. But even if she had, when would she have time to drive it? And she already possessed a perfectly functioning motorcycle (well, it would be once Joren was done playing Dr. Frankenstein with it). Her thoughts were flying every which way, often in directions she'd never taken before.

__

It's the stress, she realized. _It's always the stress. Maybe I need another vacation._

She strolled, well actually she stalked, through the rotating doors in front of the lobby, curtly nodded to the man at the desk, and stopped in front of the wall with the list of residents and a button besides each name. 

She eventually spotted 'King' and pressed the button. "Hey, it's me."

There was a bit of static before she received a reply. "Good morning to you, too, Officer. I'll tell the other fellows that you're here. Come on up."

She stepped back and pivoted on her foot, ready to turn and stride over to the elevator. Before her eyes left the wall of residents, she noticed something else. A sticker resembling dice was placed on the Faleron's nameplate. The corner of her eyes crinkled, having felt it was a pleasant little thing to see in the midst of her stressful state. 

When Keladry arrived at Faleron's door, she could hear her friends' presence. 

"Why don't you come over here and I can _tell_ you where to stick it!"

"Oh, shut your pie-hole!"

"Oh yeah? —Wait… shut my what?" 

"Just shut up! Give me the Easy-Cheez, damn it!"

There was a light scuffle. And then the unmistakable thump of a body colliding with the floor. Keladry rolled her eyes and rang the doorbell. Someone laughed from the other side, most likely Faleron, and the door slid open. 

Keladry's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly when she came face to face with her stoic partner. Joren moved aside to admit her entrance. All the while, his eyes burned into her. It was like being watched by a thousand security cameras all at once, and yet, it was like she was alone in a spotlight with no one else there. 

She _hated_ it when he stared. 

"Would you two stop that?" Faleron scolded Neal and Cleon. He was seated on the couch, holding a plate of sugar cookies he'd probably just bought from the local grocery store's bakery. He scooted over so Keladry could sit. Joren perched on the armrest of the couch, his arms folded across his chest.

After wrenching free the tall cylindrical can of cheese, Cleon whooped in triumph and managed to crawl towards Faleron's feet. He attempted to move farther, but dead weight on the lower half of his body allowed him to get as far as to rest the back of his head on the toes of Faleron's shoes. Neal was still sprawled over the redhead's legs, reeling from the last wrestling pin. 

Cleon popped the cap on the can and pressed the nozzle, sending a long string of cheese into his mouth. His facial expression transformed into that of someone sated. After basking in the delectability of his snack, he reached out a hand above himself, toward Faleron. The former thief handed him a sugar cookie. Then he nudged his friend's head from where it rested on his feet so Cleon would move. 

"Excuse me, but can we get down to business?" Keladry spoke. "Tell me how things went last night. I couldn't get anything out of Lalasa. She said it was too silly to mention." She fixed Neal, who was at eye level when Cleon and Joren were not, with a steely glare. "What exactly was so silly?"

Neal chuckled nervously. "It wasn't as bad as you think."

"The two nitwits ruined it. Our potential killer escaped."

Keladry turned so she could face Joren. "He showed up, did he? What else?"

Joren went detail by detail all the strange occurrences of last night's stake out. Keladry couldn't believe their luck. It was as if someone had kindly decided to curse the lot of them so that they always had the most difficult tasks. A few seconds after Joren had finished his recount of the night, she idly wondered what she would have done different had she been there.

It probably wouldn't have become any different. Joren wouldn't have told her that he was there either, like he did to Neal and Cleon. She glared at him. Things could go a lot smoother if he cooperated with the rest of them. But then again, this was Joren.

"Okay… I'll stay with Lalasa the rest of the day, but who's going to tag along when she and Roald go out tonight—and how can we do it undetected?"

The answer didn't need to be said. They all inwardly cringed.

~~

Roald was on Cloud Nine. Here he was, about to get seated in a great restaurant that served superb food, with a beautiful girl that loved him (dear God, where had she gotten that dress? Was that even legal to look that stunning?); all he could do was grin like a happy little idiot. He normally didn't grin but the times definitely called for such an expression of joy. 

"Where would you like to sit, Monsieur?" the maitre d' asked.

Lalasa leant toward the mustached man and whispered to him. Roald cast her a curious look. She merely went up on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. Her silk scarf tickled his neck. They waited for only two more minutes before being led away by a waiter. Normally, whenever Roald went to _any_ restaurant and he didn't want to use his parent's reputation and status to get him in quickly, he often had to wait for half an hour or more. 

If he were President, the idea would be the first thing on his agenda: solving the waiting line problem. Perhaps next time he saw Jonathan Conté, he ought to mention it. Maybe Thayet would think it worth talking about. He certainly saw it fit to fight for. 

__

I can't believe I just thought that. Was that what he got for spending time with Cleon and Faleron? The two often impressed upon Roald a bit of quirkiness that the politician's son fought to repress daily. Not that it was a bad thing. It actually made him smile.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Lalasa asked, squeezing his arm affectionately.

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied as they were led to their table over-looking the manmade lake. 

Further back in the restaurant (the kitchen to be exact) a young man grumpily donned a white uniform, complete with apron and a nametag that read Pierre-- much to Keladry's amusement. He glared at his other companions, dressed as waiters and a waitress. Neal shook his head.

"If I'd known that all you were going to do was make me stay back here, I wouldn't have agreed to come and help."

"Oh, it's not like that at all," Keladry protested. "You're our... base of operations, right?" She addressed the last part to Joren. When he didn't respond, she elbowed him. "Right?"

"Yeah. Sure. Get ready to take care of any civilians when Noll shows up."

Neal grumbled to himself. He glanced over his shoulder where the Griffin's Nest staff waited for their new volunteer assistant from the DJPF. They had eagerly taken to the idea of having an first class officer at their disposal. Revenge for traffic tickets, some had whispered. 

Cleon snuck a peek through the round little window on the swinging doors leading out to the main seating room of the restaurant. "I kind of wish the jerk had shown up during the day so we didn't have to follow Lalasa around like this." 

"_I _wish Flyn had just taken her into witness protection. Why the hell do _we_ have to watch her?" Joren intoned. He started doing up the bowtie of his uniform. Whether he acknowledged it or not, the attire felt good on him. It felt natural, and normal. 

"Captain Whiteford couldn't do that!" Keladry protested. "The media would be all over Ms. Sarrasri because Lalasa works for her. And then the media will discover that Lalasa is Ozorne's daughter and then the mess would only get bigger."

Joren rolled his eyes. "Mindelan, I think you're mistaking me for someone who cares."

"Alright, so we find where Roald and Lalasa are sitting and just hover around without them spotting us?" Cleon asked. He continued to stare out the kitchen door window.

Keladry reached up to straighten his shirt. "Yes. And please try to act like a waiter. The manager is not so happy that we decided to come in here and do this."

"Have you seen the guy that's with him? Scary!"

Neal frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think he's an assistant or something, but I swear, the guy doesn't look like he's in the restaurant business." Jokingly, he added. "Maybe he's the guy we're looking for. I never did get a chance to see his picture. Anyone here have it with them?"

The others exchanged seriously worried glances.

"No. We left that stuff back at the station because we couldn't hide it with us here. All we have are some handcuffs and our usual standard issue weapons," Keladry replied. He'd meant it as a joke, but everyone seemed to take the second meaning harshly. 

He held up his hands. "Hey now, that's kind of ridiculous. This guy has a mustache. And he's got this dirty blonde hair! I thought Noll's hair was short and black."

"There _are _such things as wigs, Cleon," she sighed. She shrugged her shoulders now. "So, what's the plan now? Anyone feel like going to see him?"

Neal immediately raised his hand. "I volunteer Kel!"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "What?"

Cleon and Joren successively raised their hands. Neal happily pointed to his fellow voters. "So it's settled! Kel, go find the guy and see if he fits the description. I'll stay back here seeing how many flies I can stick in soups, and the other guys will screw up orders while they spy on Lalasa."

Joren checked his cufflinks. "Whatever. As long as the job gets done."

"Hey, it's only one tiny thing. Kel can handle it!" Cleon beamed.

__

Et tu,, Brute? She thought to herself, silently replacing the name with Cleon's. But it didn't matter. It would take all of five seconds to see the man and be back, close to her friend in case danger lurked around the corner. She set her shoulders rigid and lifted her chin an inch higher. They wanted her to do something because they were too lazy and slug-like to do it? Fine with her. 

"I'll be back," she told them. A little voice inside her head commented how Terminator-like that line had sounded, but it was too late to take it back now. The other three men watched her as she shoved her way through the swinging kitchen door and disappear around a corner. Cleon opened his mouth to say something.

"Don't, Kennan. Whatever it is... don't." Joren warned him. He gestured for Neal to go join the cooking staff. The older officer sighed in defeat and did as he was told. When Joren's back was turned, Neal made a less than respectable hand gesture to him and sparked the muffled giggles of some women chopping vegetables. Cleon grinned as well, but Joren practically took Cleon by the ear and dragged him through the kitchen door.

__

Where is the manager? Keladry wondered as she walked around various tables and dodged other waiters, waitresses, and bus boys. She stopped completely when her only path was blocked by a party of middle aged business man making small talk as they were seated at their table. 

"Excuse me, Miss? May we have a few menus?" one of the men asked. He had a gold cap on one of his teeth that shined when he smiled at her. 

She forced a polite smile. "I'll send some out immediately."

She continued to walk past them. Finding a waiter whom she didn't know, she told him to send the menus out and asked him where the manager was. The young man directed her to the front of the restaurant again, to his office. She thanked him and moved on.

The manager was talking to a few men and women as they entered the door. He nodded and laughed at some light joke. Keladry put on her best face (no smile, but uplifted eyebrows and half-lidded eyes that made her appear as if she were listening to someone's troubles with sympathy) and approached him. The maitre 'd led the diners to their table.

"I hate to bother you again, Monsieur," she began. He still hadn't turned around. "Monsieur?"

"Quite alright, young lady," he answered. This time, he did turn around. His long thin nose and pointy chin reminded Kel of her uncle from her mother's side. He had the height and facial structure for it. But she inwardly shuddered at the thought of being related to the manager. He seemed all business and no heart, though he made an excellent actor to convince people otherwise.

__

Actor. Yes, he could very well lie through his teeth and get an Oscar, she thought.

"Did you want something?"

She snapped out of her semi-trance. "Oh! Yes, sorry about that. Um, is it possible for me to have a few words with your assistant manager."

The man made a mock-hissing noise. "I can never find him when we have so many people in the Nest at a given time."

"Oh, I see. Well, do you mind if I ask you some questions pertaining to his background?"

He frowned. "Is there something wrong, Officer? I'd hate to think that Joseph did something wrong. Ah, I know. Too many traffic tickets, yes? Three fourths of my employees are up to their ears in tickets." He laughed. "I ought to suspend all their paychecks until they attend traffic school weekly."

Keladry chuckled, not because she wanted to, but because that was what he expected from her. "It's nothing like that. Have you known... Joseph... for long?"

"No, not at all. I just hired him recently. May I ask why?"

She debated with herself on whether or not she should tell him. It couldn't hurt. And besides, perhaps he could further help her and the boys apprehend Noll as well as keep Lalasa safe. She took a deep breath and leaned toward the man. "My partners and I have reason to believe that this Joseph character is a wanted criminal. I need to see him with my own eyes before I confirm anything, but it would be much appreciated if you could tell me anything at all."

An expression of horror covered the manager's features. He smoothed back his already gelled and slick black hair. "That would explain so much! He always acted so... strange. I didn't want to say anything. One moment, he'd be talking perfect in perfect French, the next he is swearing like a common lowlife!" 

"I see..."

"Of course I'll help you if I can. I'm just sorry that I don't have any background information for you that I'm sure he hadn't forged." 

She weighed her options. "Why don't you try to find his resumé and I'll see if I can track him down in the restaurant, alright?"

"Yes, yes. I'll do that. Thank you so much, Officer. It's people like you that allow me to sleep peacefully at night."

She couldn't have asked for a falser act. But maybe it was sincere. Maybe the manager's true nature was sickeningly sleazy and guileful. Whatever it was, she had to deal with other things at that moment. Finding Noll, if he was here...

Elsewhere, Roald sipped from his glass of water. He glanced at his watch. Then he looked up at Lalasa sitting across from him. She was gazing out onto the little manmade pond that reflected the moonlight from overhead. Her half-lidded eyes and flecks of light from the candle on her tanned skin reminded him of an oil painting. Her hand was supporting her dainty chin, and a lock of dark hair strayed to her face. Without even realizing what he was doing, he reached over and tucked it behind her ear.

Lalasa flinched, a startled look in her eyes... like awakened from a daydream. The moment she realized it was him, her eyes softened and she touched his hand that touched her face. She was about to speak, but he put a finger to her lips and wordlessly gestured for her to continue staring out at the sky. She looked like a goddess, beautiful and contemplative. Her eyes surveyed the shadowed trees and dark night in front of her. The ripples in the water cleared so it became a looking glass with which Roald could see himself and his lady. 

__

Exquisite.

"Roald?" she began, her voice like a sigh on the breeze.

__

Men spend their entire lives searching for heaven on earth. Jealousy would stir and it would ravage me if it knew that I had it right here.

"Yes?"

She removed his hand from her face and gently laid it on the table. Her head tilted slightly to one side like she studying a sculpture. "Don't you get bored with all this silence?"

"No. It feels like time stands still, and I can float in this frame of time for eternity."

A blush colored her cheeks. Though of their small circle of friends he was the quietest, when he did speak, he spoke volumes with one sentence. Not all the time, but just at the right moments. She laughed and covered his hand with hers. "You should have been a poet's son, not a politician's. If you ever followed in your father's footsteps, I'd bet you'd spend all your waking time in your office dreaming and writing poetry." She pouted playfully. 

"I consider doing that every day."

She drummed her fingers on the back of his hand. "So why don't you? Honestly, it couldn't hurt for you to take action."

"Excuse me?" he frowned, nonplussed.

"Actions speak louder than words," she told him like a teacher-- complete with a lilt in her voice that was a spoof of an intelligent and cultured voice. "Instead of talking about doing it, just do it."

He smirked. "I was not aware that you liked the Nike motto so much."

"I do. 'Just do it.' Yes I'm very fond of the idea," she agreed. She reached for her purse and opened it, searching for her appointment book. "I have the right mind to get you started on something similar to that."

He pulled his hand away. "What?"

She looked up. Why would he react that way? "I don't want you playing chauffeur for the rest of your life. You deserve better. You're talented Roald."

Discomfort settled over him like a blanket full of ants. He wanted to throw it off, but he was glued to his seat, unable to stand or shift position. He finally shrugged. "What if I prefer the life of a chauffeur to a poet? Or anything of higher status for that matter?"

She chuckled. "The way you're talking, it's like you want to be a bum for all your life." She rose off her chair a few inches to lean forward and grasp his chin. "Listen to the quality of vocabulary that your mouth spews out. It's educated and refined. It reeks of status that you should claim." Before he could continue, she caught herself. "But by yourself, and not any help from your parents."

"Lalasa, I like working for Ms. Sarrasri the way I am right now. I'm paid decently enough. I have clothes on my back and a roof over my head. I'm happy." He peered at her. "Lalasa, are you getting bored with my choice of lifestyle."

She shrugged. The Carthakian spoke in begrudging tones. "You can't fault me for being ambitious for you."

He sat back in his chair and sipped his water because there was nothing he could say.

Cleon watched them from at the edge of the smoking section outside. He bitterly held back coughing in the smoke. It wouldn't look good in front of the restaurant's patrons either if he told them off about the cancers and diseases it caused. He served them their food and retreated to a shadow nearer to Lalasa and Roald's table. 

"New guy! Cover table three, would you?" another waiter called. 0

Cleon's gaze remained transfixed on his friends. 

"Redhead! Table three!" 

Cleon cringed. "Sorry." He strode toward table three located near the door leading inside the Griffin's Nest. He hoped no one had noticed. If Joren or Keladry found out about his near-blunder, they would definitely be angry.

Roald looked distractedly through the groups of people outside with him and Lalasa. He was expecting to see Cleon of all people, though he had no reason why. Redheads weren't that rare. But it came to mind so naturally for him. And Cleon's hair wasn't all that red anymore! These days, it appeared browner than he ever remembered. Perhaps it was never that coppery to begin with.

"I think he knows that we're here," Cleon whispered to Joren as he leaned inside the restaurant. Joren glared at him like the younger officer were to blame. 

Joren served an elderly couple the strawberry cheesecake that they ordered for desert. After, he d used the pretense of smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his sleeves and jacket to stand next to the window looking outside. Cleon leaned inside the door more, watching the other man for any sort of command.

"Er, do you think he does?"

Joren snorted. "If he does, he's doubting himself. Have you seen Mindelan?"

"Nope." 

"That was nearly twenty minutes ago," Joren growled. He nodded his head toward the front of the restaurant. "Go find her. Then check with Queenscove."

The sharpshooter did as he was told. He was genuinely worried. Where was Keladry? What if Noll had found her before she found him? Not that Keladry would need the rescuing, but he fancied the idea of being the hero. The last time he took it upon himself to be a hero, he almost hadn't succeeded. 

Scanra. Faleron. The execution.

Meanwhile, Lalasa stood up. "I'm going to the washroom. Be right back."

She walked stately inside, asking directions from a bus boy. He directed her toward the front of the restaurant and to the left. She thanked him and went on her way, trying to sort out her thoughts. 

The evening was supposed to be relaxing and cheering her up from an otherwise boring week. Well, the night before had been anything but boring-- but she meant boring with Roald. He drove the Council members around all day while they caught up on business while she stayed at home and was worked at both secretary's and maid's tasks.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she bumped into a tall broad shouldered man dressed like one of the Griffin's Nest staff. She gasped. "Excuse me! I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's okay, Miss Isran."

She stared at him. His crooked nose and beady eyes seemed so familiar. She instinctively backed away, wondering if anyone was around the front of the restaurant to hear if she screamed.

"I don't know you," she said shakily, and moved past him toward the bathroom. She disappeared from sight. 

"Oh, but _I_ do," Keladry muttered under her breath as she approached the man. "I know it's not my break sir, but I desperately have to use the bathroom. I hope you won't look on that badly."

He didn't even look at her. He simply scowled a 'whatever' and retreated around the front desk and to the manager's office, though no one was allowed in there without the manager-- not even the assistant manager. Keladry narrowed her eyes at him and hurried into the bathroom.

She glided along the wall, making sure Lalasa was in a stall before she entered. Crouching down silently, she saw a pair of familiar feet at the farthest end. Otherwise, the place was empty. Kel entered the closest stall, grateful that nothing in the door hinges squeaked. She got up on the seat, so no one could spot her feet from below. 

Lalasa came out of her stall and washed her hands at the sink. She lingered after, though, staring at her reflection like she had something on her mind that haunted her. Keladry hoped she didn't see her through the crack in the door. Standing on a toilet seat was not as easy as it looked. With the dress shoes she had to wear for her uniform, it was nearly impossible. 

Another employee of the Griffin's Nest entered, carrying a broom. She smiled politely at Lalasa before gasping. 

"I forgot the dustpan!" She leant her broom against the immaculate white tile wall and hurried out. Just outside the bathroom, Keladry could hear the girl squeak.

"That took an awfully long time. It will come out of your salary," the man who had bumped into Lalasa said.

"But sir, I just went there to sweep--"

"You little liar! You asked me but five minutes ago to take a break... oh whatever! Just get out of here."

The girl sounded terrified. "But sir--"

"GO!"

She squealed in horror and ran away, afraid for her paycheck. Keladry grinned in spite of herself. The man had been too preoccupied to notice that she and the other girl were not the same. He must have not seen the sweeper enter the bathroom. 

Lalasa sighed. She dragged herself to the comfortable sofa in the corner and plopped down on it. She shouldn't keep Roald waiting, but she didn't want to go back out there. It felt strange, having a disagreement like that with Roald. They normally agreed in everything, mostly because neither held opinions with so deep a faith.

Keladry wanted to go out and comfort her friend for whatever ailed her, but she was rather anticipating her counterattack against the man outside. He had to be coming in after Lalasa. It was so obvious. Now she just had to figure out how she was to jump out from a stall, from on top of a toilet seat that she was slipping off of.

__

Darn dress shoes. The clunky heels were too smooth on bottom to do much more than make Keladry half an inch taller and make her slip.

Outside, Neal hoped his vegetable oil smudged kitchen clothes wouldn't be seen by anyone. He understood at what grievances the manager allowed the DJPF to be here undercover, and a member of the kitchen staff out in the open looking so messy was definitely not good for business. He wouldn't have to be out there at all if Cleon hadn't slipped in a spill in the kitchen and knocked his head against the floor.

The sharpshooter was out cold. Such a stroke of bad luck. Neal had wanted to page Joren. That was a problem. They'd removed their normal wrist pagers because they attracted too much attention. The pagers they now wore, clipped to their belts... well, Neal didn't know the number to Joren's. Looking for Joren was out of question since that would mean going out into the main part of the restaurant and getting yelled at by the whole staff (who would have thrown him back in the kitchen, even if dynamite were strapped to his chest). 

He called Faleron, who was just about finished with dinner at Daine's place and on his way to meet Fianola. Faleron could take Cleon home, where the younger officer would later wake up with a splitting headache and a rather nasty bump on the back of his head. Faleron had asked if Neal wanted Fianola with him, since the Rider could probably help. 

Keladry didn't want the Rider's name on this case. She was being uncharacteristically stubborn, but it made sense. Even if Fianola had done nothing but drive Cleon home, any sort of connection like that would have had the Rider's name plastered all over the media's view of it. 

Back to the present, Neal steadied himself. He spotted a tall stocky man standing outside the women's restroom. He set his shoulders back and raised his chin, ready to cause some mischief.

"Sir! There's a problem in the kitchen!"

The man whirled around, a snarl escaping from his lips. "What?"

"I tried to find the manager, but he's not in his office. One of the waiters slipped and fell. He hit his head and he's out cold."

"Haven't you ever heard of smelling salts, you damn fool?" the man spat. Neal's eyebrows rose. _What sort of refined assistant manager to a nice little place like has language like this? _

Neal grinned. "Sir, we can't find them. Please, if you would show us what to do. You are the second in command, after all."

The man looked like he wanted to wring Neal's neck. Neal grinned even wider.

~~

Roald poked at his food with his fork. When Lalasa came into view, he sat up straighter and tried to make it look like he'd eaten more than he really had. Somehow, he'd lost his appetite. Lalasa bit her lip nervously as she sat. 

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Just some creepy guy hanging around the bathroom. Ought to have reported the jerk."

He nodded. "We'll do it later. Um, 'Lasa, we need to talk about something."

She frowned, knowing where exactly this might lead to. But at that moment, the wind picked up and blew her scarf from her neck. It fluttered over the rail and onto the lawn beside the pond. Roald instinctively stood up, his iron chair legs scraping against the cement floor. He moved toward the rail and lifted one leg to swing it over. 

"Don't worry. I'll get it."

Lalasa stood up. Roald looked so nice that night. Now he was going to get his clothing all dirty for some stupid scarf she got off a clearance rack (not that he needed to know where she bought it). "Just leave it! It's not impor--"

He jumped over the side, falling in a crouch on the ground that was four feet below the floor of the restaurant patio. A minor jolt traveled up his left ankle and up his calf, but he found nothing was injured. Roald squinted in the darkness, trying to see the light colored scarf wherever it may be. 

Leaves rustled to the left of him. A pause. They rustled again. He couldn't understand it. What was there? He swiftly whirled around, half expecting some monster from the depths of hell to leap out at him. Nothing. Only the dark night. And the shadows cast from overhead. He could see a family of ducks nestled into a nest at the side of the manmade pond. They looked peaceful enough for him to believe nothing disturbed the Grilffin's Nest. He took deep breaths to slow his racing heart. 

The wind chilled him as it touched his cheek and made his skin prickle. He removed a strand of hair from his eyes and knelt down. Groping on the ground around him, his fingertips eventually grazed the smooth silk of Lalasa's white scarf. It smelt of strawberries and cream. Yes, that was what she smelt like that wonderful night. 

If only he could concentrate on that instead of the nagging suggestions she'd given to him about finding a better job. He had to avoid that one for a while. 

"I found it!" he called up to her. Reaching up, he handed the scarf to her through the railing bars. Roald gripped the bars to haul himself back up and over. Lalasa kept a hand on his arm to steady his wavering balance as he climbed over. They returned to their table and resumed their meal.

Roald glanced over the rail arbitrarily, looking at random things.

"Why do you keep glancing over the side?" Lalasa asked.

He set down his fork and spoon, obviously bothered. "I heard something down there. It couldn't have been the wind. At the time, nothing else was moving."

From a few feet away, Keladry eavesdropped while taking the order of two men and a woman near the patio door. She had followed Lalasa out of the bathroom earlier, disappointed that Noll hadn't revealed himself back then. 

__

At this rate, it should probably be safe to believe that he won't show up tonight. I mean, it could be next week for goodness sake!

"Something seemed out of place down there," Roald whispered.

"You're being paranoid," Lalasa observed. 

__

Maybe he has a real reason to be, Kel thought. She walked off the patio, squeezing through a space between a hedge and the wall of the building. The trio she'd taken orders from wouldn't get served after all, but there were more important matters to deal with. 

In no time, she found the set of tiny steps that went down from the grass knoll from which the restaurant patio sat atop. She took off her jacket and hooked the collar of it over a branch of a short tree. Then she undid her cuff buttons and rolled up her sleeves. There was no sense in thoroughly soiling a good shirt.

She stealthily crept forward.

This was it. Although in the back of her mind, she found no reason for Urfan Noll to be creeping around the bushes at night under the supports and rafter of the restartant patio above... this was it! She did not spend the whole evening as a badly treated waitress in a restaurant to walk away with no arrested villain. She reached into the waist of her pants and felt for the gun braced there. She drew it out, just in case she'd have need for it. 

The rustling of leaves. She hoped no strip of moonlight caused the metal on her gun to glint. Her thumb slid back to cock the gun, but as she did...

"OOF!" the air rushed out of her lungs as someone tackled her from behind. She cursed.

The person pinning her eased off some of his weight. There was a tiny light, from a mini-flashlight shining in her eyes. Keladry groggily craned her neck upwards from the ground to see. She squinted. Whoever it was had tackled her hard. She no doubt had a bruise on her hip from how her tackler had dug his knee in while straddling her.

"Mindelan?" a disappointed but familiar voice groaned.

Her eyes widened, even with the sharpness of the light shining directly into her eyes. "Stone?"

Joren sat back on his haunches, letting Keladry sit up. He turned off the flashlight, muttering to himself that it was the second night in a row that he'd tackled the wrong person. It wasn't his fault that Cleon had made it look so incriminating-- climbing through the window like he was. And just a moment ago, he'd heard a gun click. He knew that sound like a musician knew the notes of the scale. 

"What are you doing down here?" she furiously whispered.

"I saw the manager come down here! Down the steps along the side," he hissed back. He got to his feet and walked out from under the supports, though in the shadows. No one from above would see him unless they leaned purposely over the rail. 

Keladry shook her head and followed him. "You must have been seeing things. The manager is in his office trying to find information on his assistant manager. Seems the guy was just hired or something weird like that. It might be Noll going under the name of Joseph."

The cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against the middle of her spine. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Joren noticed and froze as well. 

~~

After much prodding and moving around of Cleon on the floor of the kitchen, the man-- the assistant manager-- decided to bring the unconscious redhead to the manager's office to lie down. 

"Pick him up and follow me," the man said to Neal, indicating Cleon with a flick of his hand. Neal, was still confident that he'd prevented anything that the man had planned on doing near the ladies' restroom. He did as he was told and picked Cleon up. With much difficulty, he managed to hoist the younger officer over his shoulder and slowly walked after the assistant manager.

Neal grunted as he set Cleon down in a chair facing the manager's desk. He looked around. The walls were covered with newspaper food critics' reviews. The comments and praises were mediocre, nothing more or less than ordinary. That wasn't so bad. 

Then he spotted it.

An article was framed on the wall, and right beside it, another framed picture of two men. The article read about Urfan Noll's arrest, following Ozorne Tasikhe's double-crossing. A picture of Urfan Noll by profile was printed next to the article. This same convict proudly smiled in the next framed picture, with whom which he was standing next to the manager of the Griffin's Nest.

"Jacque is a good brother," the assistant manager said, noticing Neal's gaze. He walked over to the door and locked it. The sound of the lock bolt sliding into place echoed within Neal's head. The man proceeded to turn around, a gun already in his hand when Neal had one tucked into brace around his lower left calf.

The DJPF officer gulped, bravely stepping in between his unconscious friend and his newly unmasked enemy. "Urfan Noll."

The man frowned. He tapped his chin with his free hand. "Well, not really. I was born Joseph Noll. My mother remarried and had my half brother, Jacque. The manager of this restaurant. I had opted to change my whole name altogether since the memories of my father made it hard to bear his name. Yulphaniel Cartier. The first one is some sort of regional name from my mother's mother. It became shortened to Urfan for some reason beyond me. Cartier was my stepfather. " 

Noll chuckled to himself as he sat down in his brother's chair behind the desk. The gun remained trained on Neal. His confidence was obvious in the careless way he chatted with Neal. "Though we didn't get along at first, we soon became inseparable. When it finally came down to it, I made Jacque stay behind while I went off to become one of Ozorne's best hands. It would be easier if one of us held down a normal looking job so if I ever needed a place to hide... it wouldn't be so obvious to think that I'd be with an estranged half brother."

Neal could feel a bead of sweat on the back of his neck slowly make its way down his backbone. He wanted to kick himself. Hard. This was the reason why he was not a spy. This was the reason why the last cases he'd been working were measly drug busts and traffic guard to school children. 

He wasn't cut out for this first class sort of work anymore. 

~~

Faleron parked his car and entered the restaurant. He didn't bother with his tie, which just rested on his shoulders, around his messy collar and wrinkled shirt. His sleeves were rolled up and his hat was still tilted back on his head. At least his slacks had no creases or wrinkles. He wondered where Cleon and Neal were. Neal had said he was going to try and wait for him at the front of the restaurant. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a fairly long line of a dozen people waiting to be seated. The maitre 'd was missing, obviously. He ambled to the front of the line. The young man at front was casually leaning against the podium where the reservation book sat. Strangely, he had unruly shining silver hair and aqua marine eyes. 

"How long have you been waiting?" Faleron asked him.

"Oh, for about twenty minutes now. I ought to give the manager a piece of my mind, but I think he'll come around soon enough." Here, the man smirked. His companions, four or five fairly young men in suits, also grinned. 

The former thief nodded. He spotted the short hall that led to the manager's office. It didn't sound like such a bad idea after all. 

"Hmm..." he strode toward the office door keeping close to the wall. There were no silhouettes in the snowy glass, so he assumed though the lights were on that no one was inside. He tested the door knob. Locked. He wished he'd had his tools. His hand absently slipped into his pants pocket-- once upon a time, he'd always kept his tools in his pocket...

His hand closed around a familiar bundle, tied with a tiny cord. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and stared at a tool kit. It wasn't his tool kit, but it was very similar to his.

__

How in the world... ? It didn't matter. He had it, and he needed it. Faleron had promised himself that he would stop stealing and all those illegal things, but considering the circumstances, this had to be an exception.

He knelt down and started picking the lock. It took all of three seconds, and the lock popped open. He stood up and swung open the door. His mind slipped into that place where he thought of all possibilities before he had time to act, and he chastised himself for not getting a weapon and for not being a hundred percent sure that no one was in the room. For as it turned out, there _was _someone in the room. 

His lucky stars were shining that night. It was Cleon, tied to a chair and obviously out cold. He walked over to his best friend, slapping his cheek lightly. 

"Hey, wake up already! Kennan!"

The redhead moaned in pain. He tossed his head to the left, away from Faleron's hand. 

"Wake up, Cleon. It's me, Fal."

Cleon's eyelids fluttered open. He focused his bleary eyes on the slightly older man in front of him. The familiar hat, the piercing eyes, the intelligent and prominent nose. Yup. It was Faleron.

"What happened to you?"

He winced. "I don't know, but I need some aspirin. My head _hurts. _"

His friend walked behind him, looking at the back of his head. Faleron clucked his tongue. "You've got one hell of a bump all right. What do you remember?"

"Eh? I was in the kitchen talking to Neal and... " Here he blushed. "I slipped in something and hit the floor."

Faleron untied him. The knots were poorly done. The captor most likely believe that Cleon would be out for a while and had deemed sufficient knots in the cords were unnecessary. "Come on. Let's find the others."

~~

"Can we just postpone this job conversation?" Roald interrupted Lalasa. She gawked at him. He'd never interrupted her before, nor had she ever seen him so bothered by her. His index finger lazily circled the rim of his glass of water. His eyes were fixed on his plate. 

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms under her breasts. She sighed. "Fine."

He bit his lip and withdrew his hand from the glass. On second thought, he reached forward and took the glass. He sipped the water, not really thinking about his thirst at all. It was so silent between them. He didn't mind it, but Lalasa always did. She often tried not to be bothered by it, but he knew it did. 

"What the... Cleon? Faleron?" he gasped. 

__

The Three Stooges reunite, Lalasa thought to herself. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand again, yawning. The whole mood for the night was ruined now. She might as well let Roald go off to play with his friends like a little boy who didn't want to grow up and get a good job. Better than a chauffeur anyway.

Cleon was leaning on Faleron for support. His head still ached and he was dizzy. Roald noticed the tux which the redhead wore. "Cleon... You work here?"

"Er... part time. Just needed some extra cash and..." he started stuttering.

"His paycheck doesn't come until next week," Faleron lied for his friend. He shifted Cleon's arm over his shoulder so that the other man didn't slide down to the ground like jelly. Before Roald could ask anymore questions, Faleron laughed. "Forgive us, Roald. We have to... find someone. Have a nice night!"

"Nighty, 'Lasa!" Cleon waved at the seated Carthakian woman. She waved back, less enthusiastic.

The two comrades stumbled away like they were leaving a pub while drunk and plastered. Cleon muttered to his friend that there were steps beyond the hedges on the edge of the patio. They led down the incline of ground to the place below the patio and next to the pond. 

"Why wouldn't they be in the restaurant still?"

"There's no where else all that private around the restaurant besides the office and maybe the men's room. But I doubt they're taking a piss in there," Cleon muttered, his voice slurred a little. He put the heel of his hand to his forehead and groaned. "Damn my head hurts. Here, Faleron, take one of my guns. I can't shoot like this."

Faleron gulped. "Oh no. You're the sharpshooter. Your aim is much better than mine."

"Not while my head's spinning!" his comrade protested. He reached under his pants leg and retrieved a pistol. Faleron took it grudgingly. Cleon then removed another gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. "You've got good reaction time anyhow. You'll manage, Fal."

Faleron muttered. "Yeah right."

They hobbled down the narrow steps. When they reached the bottom, they slid under the narrow space under the patio. Cleon stood on his own now, leaning against the patio supports and sometimes on the rise of the knoll with which the patio was built on top of.

"I hear something over there," Faleron whispered.

Cleon nodded. He hobbled forward. He barely made out a figure standing so that the moonlight from the pond cast a silhouette of the man. Cleon took aim. He would just disarm him, not kill. _Killing would be bad, very bad_, his thoughts stated obviously. He squeezed the trigger.

"AH! What the hell!" Joren cried out, twisting to one side. The bullet had ripped his shoulder, and lodged itself in one of the patio's supports . He gritted his teeth and turned around. Keladry moved forward, ready to defend her partner if she had to. The gun jabbing her back pushed a little harder. She froze, but continued to rest one hand on Joren's shoulder.

The manager laughed. "Your aim is off, Urfan. You missed the fool's head."

Faleron had a burst of inspiration. He grabbed Cleon's hand, the one which held the gun, and pointed it in Jacque's direction. "Shoot him while he thinks you're Urfan!" he whispered fiercely into his friend's ear.

"Urfan?" Jacque called out hesitantly.

A second later it was done. Cleon's head had been so scrambled, he'd thought he'd heard two gunshots. That was certainly ridiculous. It must have echoed in his senses is all. He looked at his trembling hand.

And found that his aim had completely missed the restaurant manager. He frowned. "Fal... I..."

"It's okay, Cleon. You got him!"

The restaurant manager grabbed his injured thigh, howling in pain as he writhed on the ground. He dropped Keladry's gun, which she gladly retrieved and trained on him. Though Joren was wounded, he also helped out by turning on his flashlight again. 

Cleon looked like a deer caught in headlights. He was looking around him, wondering where the second shooter was. He slumped down onto the side of the grassy knoll, his job done. 

From above, Raold leaned over the rail. "Hey! Who's down there? Hello?" He called over his shoulder. "Help! Someone call the DJPF! Lalasa, see if you can call Kel."

Lalasa stomped her foot. "I can't believe our luck."

Her boyfriend turned to her. "What?"

"Kel told me not to expect to be able to contact her or the rest of the boys tonight. They're on some important bodyguard job or something."

Joren, Cleon, and Faleron all glared at Keladry. She shrugged helplessly, and nudged the injured restaurant manager with her toe as if to say, "It's all his fault! We wouldn't be here if it weren't for him!"

"Did someone call for help?" a familiar masculine voice asked. 

All the officers below the patio wanted to scream bloody murder. They knew exactly who it was. Raoul Malorie, the famous Marshall.

"What the devil is going on down there?"

....And Captain Flyndon Whiteford.

"Strange how it seems we never get a night off," a new feminine voice added.

__

And that would be Buri, Keladry thought to herself. She closed her eyes and ruefully shook her head.

"Hold on, I'll climb down," Raoul offered. 

Jacque Cartier moaned again. Joren moved to kick him, but Keladry shot him a dirty look. He stepped back, rolling his eyes. They waited until the burly Marshall had dropped down from the rail with another flashlight to speak. 

"Hey-- whoa!" the older man grinned. "Look who we have here! Flyn!" he called up. "Your boys are down here, buddy!"

Keladry coughed, somewhat annoyed.

"And girl," he amended, casting her an apologetic smile. He crouched down with a pair of handcuffs at the manager's side. "We've got an injured man!"

Joren coughed.

"Oh, and an officer, too!" he added when he shined the light on the blonde officer with a blood gushing shoulder. 

"Where the hell is Neal?" Keladry wondered aloud as Buri and Flyndon dropped down from the rail with larger flashlights. There was excited chatter above head as the staff of the Griffin's Nest tried to calm its guests. 

Cleon snapped his fingers, getting up again. "That's it! Neal must have been the second shooter! No wonder I heard two shots. Noll must have been somewhere around here too, and that's why he ran off." He nodded, confident in his hypothesis. "That was the sound I heard behind me."

"Are you sure that wasn't just me?" Faleron asked. "I heard something, too, but I assumed that it was you."

"Well, either way... Urfan Noll is not here," Flyndon groused. He sighed. "Where is Queenscove?"

Lalasa shrieked. "You guys are down there?!"

Kel wanted the night to be over, desperately. Things had thus failed so far. They'd let Urfan Noll get away a second time and now Lalasa was alerted of their presence. Joren was injured, Cleon was dazed and hearing things, and she was just _not _in a good mood.

~~

Neal moaned. His eyelids fluttered open as he took in his surroundings.

He was in a passenger seat of a car, wrists bound with a tough rope that was cutting off his circulation. The back of his head hurt so much. Maybe it was a dream, and he was Cleon. That would make sense. Oh, no, it was coming back to him. The butt of a gun striking the back of his head hard. Yes, that's how he got knocked out.

He shifted off his side just a tiny bit, seeing how many cramped and aching muscles there were in his body. 

"Don't move," a rugged voice threatened. One hand stayed on the steering wheel while the other held a gun that was easily pressed against Neal's left temple. Noll laughed, a deep haunting baritone.

"What the... Where are you taking me?"

Noll shrugged. "I heard a few gunshots outside. I guess my brother was screwing up. No wonder I was the one to make it into Ozorne's good graces and not him. So, you're my hostage, and I'm bailing town."

Neal shook his head. "You'd leave your own brother like that?"

"He's the screw-up, not me," Noll replied, no remorse at all in his voice. Neal was glad he'd never had a brother like him. All his brothers were law-abiding citizens who wouldn't hesitate to come to his aid. Too bad they weren't here now.

His captor started to whistle. "It's going to be tougher now, nailing Ozorne's kid. I'll just have to settle for a mail bomb or something. Hey, maybe I can take out a Council member while I'm at it, seeing how she works for one. Or maybe--"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. All of a sudden, there was a gunshot, and the car jerked. Neal knew that sound. The tires had just been shot out. Noll dropped his gun on the floor of his car and was trying to steer. The car was out of control.

"What's going on! Who the fuck...!" he was pressing down furiously on the break, but it seemed that it was out, and the accelerator was sticking. Neal was bounced around the car as he knew the ripped rubber of the tires was giving way and that the metal rims were scraping against the street. The screech filled the air.

The car was over 40 miles per hour. Noll still couldn't get control of the vehicle. Neal wondered what would have happened if they'd been in a hover car and the power pack had just been shot up.

__

Now's not the time to wonder 'bout that! He yelled at himself.

"Oh shit, oh shit..." he chanted over again. He reached forward with his bound hands for the car door's lock. Moving around in such a way made him realize that his ankles were bound, too.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" his captor bellowed, grabbing Neal's wavy hair in his free hand. "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!"

"Shit!" Neal yelled, elbowing Noll as hard as he could. This caused the man to swerve off the road and through rows of barricades and bushes. When they'd hit the curb, Neal was thrown to the side of the car. His forehead collided with the window. He cursed again, and fumbled with the door lock and handle.

Noll made a move to grab him again with his free hand, but the bumpy ride made it nearly impossible. He stopped trying to grab for his hostage and tried to turn off the ignition, having become desperate. The key was stuck. 

"No... no way..." he murmured.

"Ah!" Neal shoved open the door and threw himself out. Waves of pain went through his body as he hit the street and began rolling. Thank God it was one of the newly constructed streets that had yet for traffic to be let onto it. He tucked all his limbs in toward him as he rolled so the chance of him breaking a bone or twisting something out of place was less likely. 

He eventually lost his inertia and stopped, breathing hard as his face tilted toward the black starless sky. You couldn't see stars in the city. But you could definitely see stars when your head was reeling. All the rapid motion was enough to make Neal sick, but he found the strength to sit up...

...Just in time to see Noll's car crash into the side of a bulldozer left there overnight by the construction company. The sudden burst of flames made the first class officer look away, shutting his eyes tight against the fire. He gritted his teeth in pain. The ropes had cut into his wrists and now he was bleeding there, too. 

He managed to slip the ropes off now that they were slicked with his blood. He threw the rope somewhere over his shoulder. At that moment, he could care less about littering. He wanted to collapse back onto his back and just sleep, but he wanted to unbind his feet first.

When the task was done, another tiny burst of flame caught his attention. Noll's entire car was now on fire. Neal safely assumed Noll was burning with it, since he couldn't see the man anywhere, nor any sign that he'd been capable of jumping out. Well-- maybe Urfan Noll had survived. He could have jumped out of the car and still had the strength to run away, unlike Cleon who just wanted to lay down and breathe in the cold night air.

"Aww, screw it," he muttered hoarsely and plopped back onto his back, being careful not to bang his head on the pavement. A few pebbles and rocks dug into his back, but that didn't matter. He was alive. Well, mostly alive.

With that comforting thought, he contentedly passed out.

Unbeknownst to him, Noll was on his knees behind one of the newly constructed buildings but half a block away from where his car had crashed. No one was supposed to be around for miles. After all, it was just city construction. 

"Yes, that's right. No one's here. No one can hear you scream," a young man with remarkable silver hair whispered to his ear. 

Noll whimpered. He'd never heard the voice before. But he was in Tusaine. And being in Tusaine, he had the right to suspect exactly who this man was and what this man could do to him. 

The strange man stood up to his full intimidating height. He wasn't stocky like Noll though. He was lean with the body of a Greek god. But no one could tell with the dark overcoat he wore. And no one paid attention to his body when all that was on their minds was his unique hair and aqua marine eyes.

"You have made the mistake of walking into my territory with cruel intentions," he spoke crisply to Noll. Noll could barely hear his voice now. He'd thrown himself out of the car, but as soon as he had, someone had roughly caught him and kicked him in the groin to make sure he'd be immobilized. Everything in his more than middle-aged body ached. There was no chance of defense against this group of men.

"I didn't know that this... this was your turf," he croaked.

The stranger frowned. "You say you didn't know?" He turned to one of his four companions. "Oh, Liam, my good man. I want to believe him, don't you?"

The young man, Liam, smirked. "Not really, Mr. Yukishiro."

"Hmm. Yes, me neither," the man laughed. His smile disappeared. A malicious grin replaced it. "Have him say something that will make me believe him. Something grand..."

Liam was happy to oblige. He kicked Noll hard in the stomach, causing the escaped convict to double over in pain. Then he kicked upward, catching the other man right under the chin. Noll's head snapped up. He fell onto his side, spitting up blood.

"Please! No more! I knew, okay? I just thought..." he gasped. "I thought that since you let Jacque carry on without interference that you wouldn't mind if I..."

"Wouldn't mind if you went after Lalasa Isran without my consent?" the silver-headed young man finished. He clucked his tongue. "Oh, but your brother Jacque only smuggled arms and did loans. He refused to dirty his hands with organized crime like pre-meditated murder." He chuckled and crouched down. Now he spoke in soft tones. "Even then, he always gave me a good percentage of his profits." The man sneered. "I'd never allow someone like you to be associated in my ring. Not even if your brother begged for you."

A man in a dark blue suit ran up, panting. Soot and dirt covered him.

"Sir!" He held up a jagged piece of metal with his leather gloved hand.

"And this would be a part of the dashboard?"

"The part that connects the steering wheel to the car actually," the new arrival breathed.

He regarded the metal thoughtfully. "You know what to do. Jam it into his throat the _hard _way and throw him into the blaze. I won't allow any evidence showing that I helped out the DJPF by catching one of their most wanted," he scoffed. "That would be ridiculous to the common public."

"Yes, sir!"

Liam took the metal from the other man and held it up high, ready to strike down. Noll screamed.

~~

"Neal, you're a hero!" Dom said to his God-brother. He paused. "Albeit, it was through sheer luck, but.. you're a hero!"

All the Riders and officers in the room hurrahed for the 25 year old man lying in the hospital bed. Keladry applauded, too. She was glad he'd gotten some credit for all his pains. Deep in her subconscious, she wished she was getting as much recognition, but that probably would have ended up annoying her after a day or two.

Joren rolled his eyes. He was in the second hospital bed, sitting up, with his legs over the side. He wasn't wearing a hospital gown, but the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before. His shirt was off and a large mass of white bandages were wrapped around his shoulder. A surgeon had overlooked the wound and picked out bits of shrapnel from the bullet. There was hardly any at all, and Joren was sewn up and treated before anything like infection hit him.

Cleon was sitting in a chair holding an icepack to the back of his head. He whistled innoncently until Faleron arrived at the room carrying his friend's can of Easy-Cheez. Cleon's face lit up as the processed cheese spread in a can was delivered to him. It was something around 1 AM. Flyn, Buri, and Raoul were dealing with Jacque Cartier while awaiting news from forensics about the crispy black corpse they found in the car wreckage.

They wrote up the report, saying that Jacque Cartier was harboring his brother, Urfan Noll and assisted him in his attempted murder. Knowing that his brother was caught, Noll fled the scene with Officer Nealan Queenscove as his hostage. The car had been rigged, the police assumed by Jacque (though Jacque denied it completely), and Neal was able to knock out Noll and throw himself out of the car before it crashed.

"I really don't remember anything," Neal confessed.

"That's alright. Everyone's safe and sound. The crooks are in jail. Lalasa is safe. Though she's mighty pissed," Dom trailed off nervously.

Kel shook her head. "Mostly at me. Don't worry Neal. She'll cool off in a couple of days."

"Says you," Lalasa said from the doorway. She glared at Keladry while she went over to sit on the side of Neal's bed and hug him. "My hero!"

Roald laughed as he entered the room. He handed Keladry and Cleon their pagers which he'd retrieved from their apartments. He didn't dare enter Joren's. And Dom had taken Neal's pager to him. The room broke out into chatter. Above it all, Lalasa was scolding everyone for keeping this secret from her. 

Keladry was able to slip out among all the chaos. Patients and nurses passing by gave her strange looks, seeing as she just exited one of the loudest rooms on the floor. She tried to remain inconspicuous and hurried to the empty nurses' lounge to hide out so she could get some sleep. It was too late to go home without falling asleep on the way. 

~~

The sun shone through the window blinds and onto Keladry's face. She wrinkled her nose and yawned as she stretched languidly out on the lounge sofa. Blinking open her eyes, she glanced at her pager. It read 9:16 AM. She'd been out for hours. Her neck had a cramp from the way she'd slept, but that was alright. She should go back to Neal's room and see how he was doing. Joren was being commanded against his will to stay overnight. Buri and Flyndon weren't having it any other way. She supposed the blonde would have snuck out by then. 

After all, it was no secret that Joren had the habit of sneaking out. _Especially out of hospitals, _thought. _Especially with bullet wounds._

She remembered the night before about how long Joren had spent threatening Cleon with painful methods of death for shooting him. The redhead had just hid behind Faleron and Keladry, hoping for sanctuary.

__

"Just wait until my shoulder heals, Kennan!"

Keladry sighed and sat up. A message on her pager was blinking. Once again, her volume was turned down. At the rate she was going, she'd never be able to tell if she was being paged. She checked the message. It was from her brother, Conal. 

"Conal?" she said aloud. "Why would he page me?"

She stood up and made her way over to the lounge's phone. Plopping down on a cold armchair, she dialed a number to get out, and then the long distance number to her house back in her home town.

The phone ran but once before someone picked up.

"Kel?"

It was Conal. 

"Hey, did you page me?" she asked, yawning.

"Yeah..."

She frowned. "Well, what for? Is something wrong? Something happen to Mom or Dad... or maybe the kids?" She referred to her younger siblings as the kids sometimes. They didn't act like her siblings most often time. They gathered under her older brother Anders, as if they were his instead of her father, Piers.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Well why did you page me?"

He paused for ten whole seconds.

"Conal!"

"If I start, you can't interrupt."

She shook her head. "What?"

"Just say that if I start, you won't laugh or interrupt!"

__

What's this about? "Okay, okay. I won't laugh or interrupt."

"Alright then," Her older brother-- her least favorite brother as it was, cleared his throat. She waited on the edge of her seat, wondering if he was going to spill out his heart about some girl he'd just met... or maybe some big news about going to college instead of working in the meat factory! No. It was nothing like that.

"Happy birthday to you..."

Her heart started to melt. Was this really Conal?

"Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday, little sister... Happy birthday to you..."

She bit her lip. "Aw, Conal."

"Make a wish Kel."

__

I wish Conal stays this sweet forever. "Okay."

"Good. Don't expect anything big or fancy next year! You're lucky I remembered this year... and... and if you tell anyone, you'll be getting nothing but coal again for Christmas!" he added hastily.

__

Oh well. Wishes don't always come true, she laughed. "How thoughtful of you, Conal."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, you're 21. Legal drinking age. Hope you don't go overboard on that one."

"No one ever contested me over my legal age, Conal. I was an officer. First class Officers are on average 25 or older."

He groaned. "I should have been you then. I could have been 20 years old in a bar without no one disputing my age..."

"Sure..."

"Anyway, I remembered your birthday. Wish you all the best, squirt."

"Thanks Conal." She hung up and sat back in the plush chair. Now she could get back to sleep. Blissful sleep.

Five seconds later, an explosion rocked the hospital. Several other people shouted what she expected.

"YUKI!"

Author's note: 

Sorry I haven't been around in so long. What with fanfiction.net being down, then school, then my sport, then trying to start piano again, then trying to overcome a end of the summer cold, THEN getting distracted by the national tragedy—I haven't been feeling my greatest. I get done with things I have to do around 10:30 at night. And THEN, I start my homework. Doesn't leave much room for writing, does it? But I'd never give this up. Writing is the only non-stressful thing I have. 

With that being said, I'll try harder to get more time to myself. It's all about organization, people. Yup. 

I think I told everyone who has read 'Thanks to You', the last part of my Unforgettable Amnesiac Quartet, that it is not the original ending I had. Thanks to You actually ends differently (albeit more tragically) but since I am first and foremost concerned for ICBW and other series I currently have, I will not finish and release the original ending. Maybe if I'm blessed with an early winter vacation, sure, I'll finish it. But not until then. All I can say is that the original ending has the feel of the movie 'The Perfect Storm'… but no. Not everyone dies, like in that movie. I said it just had that _feel_ to it.

****

IMPORTANT!

Due to the rising numbers of viruses out there, I will be only reading and responding to emails with the titles ICBW, ALLO, FANFICTION.NET, and S. SERAFINE. I also will be unable to carry on a mailing list as I promised. I heard that fanfiction.net now has one for updates. Try to join.

****

Thanks again for staying with my stories. _ESPECIALLY after the tremendously long wait... _I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate readers and their feedback. I always knew that a great abundance of people read my works, but it wasn't until they all emailed me-- telling me to get my sorry behind back at the keyboard-- that I fully realized how... _appreciated _my writing was. Happy Holidays everyone. I hope you all get what you want. I already received more than I ever hoped. 

Until next time! 


	6. Emerging

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

****

Episode 6: Emerging

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. Thanks!]

Keladry could definitely tell that winter was just around the corner. Her lips were slightly chapped and her nose was cold as she stepped out of her car in the garage and headed to the elevator. Her white dress shirt was very wrinkled, and she wouldn't be surprised if there were a few stains in her clothing that wouldn't come out. Despite her sloppy and grungy mood, she was happy. 

It was the morning after Lalasa's near-murder. Otherwise known as Keladry's birthday. She didn't expect a great deal. She was one year older. She was within legal age of a lot of things that weren't technically available to her before (but had been accessed anyway, thanks to her First Class status). Was she really so young? It felt like the last twenty-one years had been spent doing so much.

And yet Keladry felt like she had accomplished so little. After all, what did she have to show for it? An apartment in Tusaine, a superior who was always cranky, a body that ached from its billions of encounters with that fiend named Death... a confusing set of friends and a _very _disagreeable partner whom she just wished would have a heart.

The thought had mysteriously carried her to his door. She looked around, searching with her eyes for an excuse to quickly scurry away. None was found. Her feet were planted to the floor, and she had the brief silliness to wonder if one of the Riders had placed a gooey trap to stick her to that spot. Half of them were prone to pranks, after all.

She looked down at herself. She was a mess. Sleeping all night on a lounge sofa in the hospital was not exactly the Ritz. And washing up in a bathroom covered in antiseptic and alcohol had done nothing but dizzy her senses. Her head was still spinning from the fumes. 

Neal wasn't having such a great time either. He'd confided in her that morning that it didn't feel right to him-- his credit for last night's events. He didn't feel like a First Class officer anymore. After slacking off for so long, he just felt normal. And the fact that he'd done something of such caliber was too much for him to conceive.

__

"It doesn't match up, does it? I wasn't there under the patio. How could I have shot at Cartier at the same time Cleon did? I don't remember..."

"That's the point, Neal," she assured him. "You don't remember. You did so much, but you just can't think of it because your mind and body is just reeling from all the beating it took yesterday."

"No, but I think there's more. Some of the evidence just doesn't match. How could have Cartier rigged the car so that the tires were shot out? I understand the ignition and the accelerator... but the tires?" He angrily pounded his fist on the metal bar handle at the side of his bed. He regretted instantly and made a small whimper as he rubbed his hand.

Keladry shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense to me either, but it's a closed case. For now."

Back to the present, Keladry let out a deep breath. Her partner's door still took up her whole entire field of vision. She'd gone this far. She might as well get her daily dose of insults before she continued on with brunch or doing the laundry. Her shirt definitely needed the attention, so she'd ought to get the chore over with.

She pressed the telecom button and spoke. "Stone, I know you're in there. Open up." She paused. "You have got to stop sneaking out of hospitals whenever you get injured. It only makes things worse." She received no response. "Stone!"

How typical. He ignored her. She was trying to be the good and helpful person, and he shot down her attempts. He didn't even acknowledge that she tried most often times. The worse side of her inner mind told her to give up and focus her attention on more appreciative people, but she wouldn't leave anyone out. She never would.

The door slid open. Joren stood in front of her, arms folded across his chest. He wore a white ribbed tank undershirt, and then a mass of bandages wrapped around his right shoulder. She sympathized with him. It must have hurt a great deal, but he didn't show any pain. Not any clenched jaw muscles, or awkward movements. That was Joren, for you, always trying to hide things. 

"Mindelan, take a picture. It lasts longer," he said, a bit tritely, and retreated further into his apartment. The door was still open, so Keladry pondered if it was a cue for her to enter. If memory served her right, no one ever entered his apartment. It wasn't breaking privacy rules that Stefan had made. When Joren was involved, the infraction transformed it into trespassing onto an entirely different country. 

Did this mean that he was getting used to her, this... admitting her inside? _Was _he admitting her inside? That was a positive sign in her book, but what did it mean to Joren? Unable to answer her own inquiries, she stood shyly at the threshold, watching her partner inside.

The blonde in question growled softly from the living room/kitchen. "Well, what did you want?"

"Just checking on your shoulder. I mean, you'll need to change the bandage. I assume you haven't touched it since last night though you obviously disregarded their recommendation for a sling." She gestured to the way he carried his right arm, a little too slack for his normal stance.

Joren glared at her and defiantly held his right arm straightforward. He rotated it right, and then left, then put it slowly down. His arm hadn't flinched or wavered. Keladry cursed his obstinacy and joined him in the kitchen. 

"Satisfied?" he barked.

"Not really. You'll need help changing the bandage at least."

He snorted. "I can do it on my own."

She knew she was pushing the boundaries, but some boundaries were simply ridiculous. Her good sense told her that if he tried changing the bandage himself and strained his shoulder, the wound would only get worse. Keladry walked over to a metal stool next to the kitchen counter and gestured for him to sit. 

"You're delusional," he remarked snidely and walked past her to his single couch. While he walked around, Keladry had an opportunity to observe her surroundings. No one else would probably see it for another thousand years. 

The kitchen tiles reminded her of a black and white checkers board. Someone else must have picked it out. No where did she see black and white checkers in any one part of Joren's persona. His counter had stacks of plain white plates and paper plates, a few bottles of water, and a lot of on-the-go sort of snacks. Black square magnets held important papers to the refrigerator. They were receipts on motorcycle parts, names of parts dealers, and other contacts that Keladry didn't even want to guess at. 

White walls, some chipped paint at the corners where the walls met the ceiling. One six-bladed ceiling fan with a light bulb and a metal link cord. One coffee table, most likely taken from the back of a furniture store that had gone out of business, had four sturdy legs and a dark wood polish applied to it. Scattered atop the coffee table were a few empty bullet shells, some magazines for his guns, and a holster that fit around his back. 

His carpet was off white, almost a sort of light tan. There were dark spots in arbitrary places. Whatever occupants had been here before had left plenty of evidence of their existence. Joren wasn't the type to raise a ruckus over immaculate apartments, so he obviously didn't mind Stefan stuffing him in one of the worst places.

"Are you still here?" he asked as he turned around from where he sat on his couch. He'd been digging through a black duffel bag whose contents were mysteries.

Keladry walked around the counter and toward him. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm satisfied with that stupid roll of bandages."

He rolled his eyes upward and considered his options. "Fine," he agreed, almost as simply as if someone had asked him if he'd be okay with just vanilla ice cream. He jerked a thumb toward a closed door near the bedroom. "Spare bandages in the bathroom."

It had been almost too easy. Keladry had the right mind to check around for a glowing green pod. Pod people. Yes, there was a crazy science fiction book that Owen once showed her. It contained a story of aliens, pod people, replacing real people and acting entirely out of character. Perhaps pod people had come to Tusaine and she just didn't know it.

"Don't lay a finger on anything else. You got that?" Joren yelled distrustfully behind her. 

The fact that he was 99 percent _in _character ruined her hypothesis.

She entered the bathroom and flicked on the wall switch. She was once again disappointed. Hoping for something more revealing about his life, all she got was a clear white bathroom counter, a spotless mirror, and a large stock of different antiseptics and disinfectants. That did not appear out of the ordinary to her, considering their line of work. She crouched down to check the cabinet under the sink. 

"Ah. There they are." She picked up a box of sterile white bandages and ripped the tab on top while trying to open it. She also brought some gauze and other things to clean the wound with. You could never be too sure.

When she returned to the living room, he was seated on the kitchen stool that she'd set out earlier, with his white tank lying on the counter next to the sink. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter top. She tried not to drop anything as she made her way over and dumped all the items onto the tiny kitchen table. She nearly knocked off a holster from the table, but caught it and set it where it was before.

"I tell you, it's fine," he protested one last time as she started to undo the wrapping on his shoulder. Being so close, she could definitely tell each individual muscle she saw was consumed with a reserved power that was awe-inspiring to see. When Joren wasn't being an asshole about it. If it had been any other person, with a gentler personality, good company might have pleased Kel. It would match the well-toned body. One of her classmates from the Academy would say that hard bodies like his should be possessed by the sweetest souls. 

Why flattering looks and crude roughness had to walk hand in hand, she wish she knew.

"You get injured so often," she commented to fill up the silence.

"What can I say? I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

__

A house burning down. A father had attempted to save his son. Keladry lowered her gaze, only to be confronted by the evidence to her thoughts.

The familiar collection of scars greeted her eye. Some were burn scars; others were randomly made. Bullets, razor feathers... It was hard to tell them apart. It was certainly difficult to keep focused whenever he displayed his battle scars. She wanted to reach out and touch one--

But that was... overstepping boundaries that she wanted to keep, a little nervous voice in her said. She finished taking off the bandage and threw it in the wastebasket. Then she turned back to his shoulder. 

"I don't get it... This isn't right! It can't have healed so much in one night!" She stared at the peculiar wound, which looked as if it'd had a week or more to heal rather than half a night. The skin tissue was barely raw and the dead skin was already peeling off. Most of the small wound was scabbed over and ready throw off the scab for new skin. The area itself was just overall pale or pink. She gently touched a part of it with a gauze pad. "This is impossible."

He shrugged. "I heal fast."

She glanced for one last time at the raw skin. Then, she walked around him so she could speak to him face to face. "No one heals that fast."

"I do," he said plainly. He wasn't surprised with himself at all. What she wouldn't give to read his thoughts! "Well, Mindelan, if you're not wrapping it up, give it here. I'll do it myself. It's not like I'll be straining anything."

How could he be so oblivious to the phenomenon? 

"You..." she suddenly gasped. "This is why... You sneak out of hospitals whenever you get injured because of this... incredible resilience!"

He took no notice of her revelation and turned around to get a fresh roll of bandages. He held down the end with one hand while wrapping his right shoulder with the other hand. Keladry quickly took the bandages from him and continued what he'd started. She scolded him freely. "I can't believe this. This whole time... That's why you don't stay in hospitals. They suspect, don't they?"

"Blood tests," he murmured mysteriously, his eyes darkening. 

She frowned. "You weren't always like this."

"No," he admitted. "It started not too long ago. Not too long at all. Not that it matters." Impatiently, he inserted, "Are you done yet, Mindelan? You're a damn tortoise. Definitely no chances in the medical field for you." She pulled tightly on the bandage, hoping he felt some pain for the insult. He laughed at her cruelly and reached for his tank. "You're way too emotional. You were better when you tried to be all reserved and professional when you weren't."

"Can't you be nice to me? Even on my birthday--" she put her hand to her mouth. Of all people to blurt that out to, she'd chosen him. She didn't want him to know her birthday. From now on, he'd be capable of plotting his most malicious actions on her birthday. 

He scratched the back of his head as he hopped off the stool. "Really? Humph. Waste of a cake," he commented and started for the front door. Her unceremonious cue to leave. She considered kicking over his table or some childish action, but in the end she just shuffled to the door.

There again, waiting on the threshold. Joren cleared his throat. She wasn't leaving for some reason he didn't know. "So, Mindelan, how old does this make you?"

Surprised that he asked, her eyes widened. Now was not the time to look like an idiot. "Twenty-one."

"Twenty-one," he echoed more quietly. "And _this _is your life."

Coming from him, it sounded like a prison sentence. She clenched her fists at her side, determined not to react the way she knew that he wanted her to. She counted to ten in her head and coolly replied, "If you're thinking that--"

Her retort was cut short by his lips on hers. His strong embrace pressed her whole body against his so tightly she couldn't imagine being able to pull them apart. His arms snaked around her waist possessively and embraced her so tight that she could barely breathe. Keladry's mind was a complete blank. Her primary thought had been to push away from him, but her defenses were being automatically shut down. Even if she'd try to push away, he most likely would have overpowered her. 

__

By Glory... this isn't right... what am I doing?

So there she was, her arms trapped between him and herself. She would have been in a position to pound her fists on his chest had there been space enough between them to do that. Her knees were weak, and probably would not hold her up if he weren't holding her. All that should have been on her mind, she recognized, was to get away from him... to slap him for trying to play her like always did. 

But his lips were so soft, and so bruising. His mouth moved against hers hungrily-- pressed so hard that she couldn't turn away even if her mind had been stable enough to think of it. But the longer they stood there, separate from the universe, the more hopeless it seemed of ending. One hand wandered up her spine to the back of her neck in case she tried to twist her head away. Keladry made a sound of protest, still muffled by his lips.

He taunted her, close to ripping away all her dignity by tightening his hold and brushing her ticklish spots with his fingertips. Then his hands returned to rubbing her back and neck, eliciting a whimper from her. She cursed herself for letting it sound, because from that reaction, he only doubled his ministrations. 

She could hardly breathe. Her head was dizzy with lack of air, and otherwise contributed to her weak-in-the-knees feeling. Kel literally gave up and leaned toward him. The hand on her neck moved upwards to run fingers through her hair. Her scalp delightfully welcomed the sensation. 

Little pangs of desire and fulfillment were welling up inside her chest and how was she going to force them down? Unbelievably warm... breathless... his so masculine body against her own...This had to stop. No more of his muscular bare arms around her...his _wonderfully _soft hair tickling her cheeks, those now warm lips parting hers, tasting her-- was that his tongue? --his undeniable strength keeping her rooted to the spot....

No, no more of that.

"Mmph!" She balled up her fists and tried to push off his chest. Their lips separated, and Keladry felt a chasm between them. Maybe the chasm existed inside her, because without his touch she suddenly felt empty. He smirked. As soon as she glimpsed his parted lips and toothy smile, he removed his arms from her person so quickly that she had no time to adjust and went toppling backwards. She landed on her butt just a step outside his door. 

Flushed and angry, she stumbled to her feet. Had anyone seen? No, no one was in the halls except them. She turned on Joren, ready to denounce his actions as those of a lunatic's, and a pervert's. 

"Twenty-one."

She frowned and narrowed her eyes into glaring slits, trying to form words in her mind to speak. She took a deep breath. "What?"

He leaned on the doorframe, stretching out like a Cheshire Cat. One hand was poised to press the button to close it. "Twenty-one, Mindelan. And _this _is your life. Twenty-one years and here you are, sitting on your ass in a hall wondering how you can take control of a fate that hates you."

"You asshole!" she yelled, feeling his words just might be true. "If you _ever _try that again, I'll--"

"Do what you always do," he finished, altering her intended words. "Try at first, and then surrender because it feels so good. And then feel all the humiliation and pain that I have to offer." He laughed deep in his throat and turned around. "Oh, and don't worry about helping me with my bandages. I think I can handle it from here on in." The door closed.

She could have stood in the same spot forever, just like the timeless moment prior to her entering his apartment twenty minutes ago.

This was her life.

~~

Keladry lied down on her couch, watching television and wondering what she was to do all day. It was her birthday after all. In years past, that special day was spent at the training center or perhaps in the shooting gallery. Now and then, Neal and Owen would have taken her out to dinner-- a best-friends-only celebration. But only Neal was here of the two, and _he _was in the hospital, banged up like no one's business.

She went into the kitchen and started making herself some lunch. She'd meant to do so earlier, but things had distracted her. Things. People. Certain people that liked to mess with her head. She pushed the thought out of her mind as she rummaged through her food pantry. 

"Stupid jerk," she muttered aloud.

"Who's a jerk?" a voice from behind asked her.

Keladry straightened up and turned around. She frowned. "How did you get in here, guys?"

"Door was open," Faleron supplied to Cleon, who had opened his mouth without anything ready to say.

Cleon took a seat at the table while Faleron, Roald, and Lalasa stood. Kel knew exactly what would steer at least one person off subject as to the question 'who was a jerk' and tossed a bag of fat free potato chips at the redhead who gladly caught them, opened the bag, and started snacking. The others in turn partook of the food. She brushed her hands off and sat down as well.

"So, what's new?" she asked, feeling prompted to begin the conversation after successfully shooting down the first question.

Lalasa rolled her eyes. "What's new? That's all you can say?"

Roald interrupted her before his girlfriend went off on a spiel. "We just came from Neal. He said it's your birthday."

"How could you not _tell _us?" Lalasa demanded, gathering her only other female friend in a tight hug. Obviously, the Carthakian woman was no longer mad at her for the events of the night before. Roald sighed and slumped in his chair, staring blankly into the space near his feet. Lalasa glanced at him before rolling her eyes and sitting down besides Cleon.

"It's not important," Keladry shrugged. She inwardly hoped that they wouldn't make a great fuss over her. There was a never-ending amount of trials, tribulations, and irritations for her to deal with. No time must be allowed for trivial events like birthdays.

Cleon paused in his eating to clap her on the shoulder. "We'll celebrate! If it weren't for you, it's likely none of us would ever have met, you know."

Faleron frowned, pondering. "I'm not yet sure that is such a good thing." His best friend punched him in the arm. Faleron chuckled and rubbed the sore spot. "Just kidding, Kennan."

Keladry wondered if it were at all possible to create a diversion and escape her own apartment. Before she could calculate the time she would need to run around Lalasa or vault over the kitchen table, Cleon had already gotten up and was browsing through the electronic phone database for the address of a club they could go to.

"There's a pool hall on the riverfront," he suggested. The beeping sounds from the device were loud, so he twisted the volume dial.

"Sounds good to me," Roald immediately replied. He couldn't help but be eager for a decision to be made and done. Lalasa made an uncertain sound.

"Isn't there any other place we could go?"

"I think the pool hall is fine," Roald defended.

She gave him a reproachful look. "Why don't we ask _them_, Hon? It's not _your_ birthday, is it?"

"No, it's not, but it's not _yours _either, Dear."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sure I like that tone of yours."

"Oh really? What is it that you don't like? Is it a chauffeur's tone? A poet's?" His voice took on a clearly sarcastic attitude that Lalasa loathed on the spot.

Keladry blinked. She had to be in the Twilight Zone. Roald and Lalasa were arguing? Over something as simple as celebrating her birthday? Something was very, very wrong with that picture. As if someone had streaked ink down the front of the Mona Lisa. She sat down. "No, no. The pool hall is fine! If we have to go anywhere tonight, I'd rather it be quiet. I'm still completely wiped out after last night."

It was truth, and it was accepted. Without any further dispute, the location of that night's 'festivities' was agreed upon. Roald and Lalasa left, wanting to purchase a present for her though they'd had very little time to do it in. Cleon and Faleron remained. The trio could still hear the couple squabbling loudly outside the apartment door. 

Keladry shook her head. "Is it just I thinking this, or is there some acid between them?"

Faleron scratched his chin. "No. I think they're just scared from last night." He forced himself to smile. "I mean, from the time they've gotten together to now, their relationship has been close to perfect, hasn't it? Nobody lives like that. A little imperfection is just what the doctor ordered to make sure they stay together." His smile faltered. "You can't help but be depressed about that explanation."

"Elaborate?" Keladry asked in a monotone voice, still staring at the space where Lalasa and Roald had been standing. 

"Depressing... the fact that no one's relationship is perfect," he sighed. "We're all flawed."

Cleon continued chewing. He swallowed and shrugged. "What's so wrong with that?" His oddly quiet voice said in a bittersweet tone. "We're all big boys and girls. We know what truth is in this freaking world."

Keladry moved her gaze so it rested on the two men in front of her. Incredulous, she snorted. "Has the whole world suddenly slipped into a depression while I was sleeping?"

Faleron started for the living room. "No. It just stopped taking it's Prozac."

Cleon laughed, pretending that one was supposed to laugh at the joke. He stood up and walked over to Keladry, hugging her. "Happy Birthday, Kel. We'll have fun tonight, won't we?" With a swift kiss on the forehead, he followed his companion toward the door. "Make sure to write your gift list and page it to us!"

She heard the door close and dragged her feet to the refrigerator. She filled a glass with cold water and took a sip. The cold water soothed her parched throat. It did nothing for her mood. She held up the glass to eye level, remembering that people swallowed their medicine with glasses of water. She wouldn't need the medicine, she told herself. None of her friends would need it, and most certainly not her. 

It was her birthday. And she'd damn well cry if she wanted to.

~~

"Oh man, but I love this place! How come we've never been here before?" Cleon exclaimed after they'd gotten in, claimed a few tables, and went with Roald and Faleron to play pool. Most of Keladry's acquaintances in Tusaine had surprisingly shown up. But only half of the Riders' Own attended. The rest were working.

Buri and Raoul were sitting at a table with Qasim and Prosper, laughing over a joke that Raoul had just made. They seemed relaxed enough. Prosper didn't resemble himself while he was grinning. Keladry supposed that she was too familiar with his serious side. She glanced sideways at her other friends. 

Neal, the first friend she'd made when she came to the Academy of Tortall, was drinking a can of soda and talking with Dom. His wounds weren't healed, and it hurt for him to move around, but he'd wanted so desperately to come that night. After much pleading, Neal had convinced the doctor to let him go on the condition that Dom stayed with him at all times. 

(_"Even to the bathroom?" _

"Yes, Mr. Queenscove. Even to the bathroom.") 

Dom held a present that Neal had bought for Kel in advance. When she entered a short time earlier, the Rider had risen to present it to her.

"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?" Neal grinned. He winced when he stretched his split lip and reached up to dab at a drop of blood. 

"Of course not," she sat down beside him. "I wish Owen were here, though. It isn't the same without his annual little birthday song." The two old friends laughed. Since their school days, Owen had come up with an odd little birthday song that he would sing for anyone on their birthday. It was not the conventional and the traditional. Everyone loved it.

Neal tapped the lid of his soda can in boredom. "I hope he's fine wherever he is."

"I'm sure he is."

"Probably complaining about the lack of vanilla pudding."

Keladry slapped his arm. She immediately apologized when he grimaced. He waved it off. "It's okay. I'm not a fragile little glass ornament. I'm a tough guy."

"Says who?" Dom inserted, eliciting a partially outraged gasp from his younger relative. 

As the two continued their war of wits, Keladry stood up unnoticed with Neal's present and headed toward Fianola and Lalasa. Both were watching their respective love interests playing pool. Keladry knew that the ground upon which Lalasa and Roald were standing on that day was shaky, but what about the barely out-of-her-teens Fianola? 

She knew that Faleron was a good guy. He was nothing less than a gentleman, charming and sophisticated when he wanted to be. Fianola was somewhat young for him, Keladry thought. But she did know that it wasn't dear Fal that had initiated the whole thing, but Fia. He wouldn't do anything that the younger girl wouldn't want to happen. If anything, it was probably Fianola who was influencing the ex-thief.

"Hi, birthday girl!" The youngest Rider greeted. She hugged Kel, who awkwardly hugged back. The younger woman's eyes lit up. "I got something for you!"

"Oh, you didn't have to," Keladry rubbed the back of her neck. 

Lalasa brightened. "Oh, I almost forgot my gift, too! Here, Hon."

"You shouldn't have..." _Am I going to have to repeat this scene all night? _She accepted both presents from her female companions and coughed gently. They moved aside to offer her a seat on the bench. She sat and set the wrapped boxes on the table.

Her older friend elbowed her. "Open them already!"

"Oh, I don't want to make a mess," Keladry lied. "We'll open them when we get back tonight. You guys can come in for a few minutes; it'll be cool." The two others whined, but eventually accepted the proposal. Keladry let out a deep breath.

She spent a few more minutes with the Lalasa and Fianola until she felt she'd filled the quota of nice, polite stick-around-even-if-you-don't-want-to time to ease her conscience. She excused herself from the table and sauntered over to where some of the Riders were. 

Raoul was right in the middle of retelling an escapade of his to Qasim since it was in the time before he'd come. Buri, though she hadn't been there, had heard the story before. Prosper, being the first man ever recruited to the Riders' Own, added a few details here and there when he sensed that his boss had forgotten one. Keladry couldn't help but envy how happy they appeared talking about their work. At one point, Prosper and Raoul both stood and acted out a few motions that went on from a particular part of the fight. 

Patrons of the pool hall not even in the party seemed to be listening from where they were. Their wide eyes and rapt attention were the evidence Keladry needed to conclude that no matter where the Riders went, eyes followed. 

Prosper backed up too far in one move and collided with her. "Whoa! Sorry, Keladry. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she responded. "Good evening to you gentlemen. Having fun?"

"A very happy birthday to you, Keladry. And yes we are!" Raoul greeted. Qasim and Prosper did likewise. She thanked them and sat down. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but you don't look as happy as the guest of honor should be."

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that. I'm just very exhausted."

"I wish I'd been there. Car explosion and hostage taking. Escaped convict? It definitely sounds like you had your hands full," Prosper remarked. His ever-serious tone magnified the interested look in his face. 

The same opinion was obviously present in Qasim. "I'd have liked to poke around the wreck. Neal keeps denying what went down in the report."

"Don't say it so loud. He'll hear you and get riled up," Prosper warned. 

Keladry glanced over at her best friend. In his condition, she didn't want him getting excited over any DJPF matters. Neal deserved a copious amount of rest and relaxation. She bit her lower lip and drummed her fingers on the tabletop. 

"Did they identify Noll's cause of death?" she asked Raoul, but did not raise her eyes to meet his.

The older man coughed, scratching his chin. She wondered why a lot of men did that when they were nervous. Did their chins itch when they didn't know to what extent they should answer a question? Prosper and Qasim looked on in blatant suspicion. Buri, continuing to remain quiet, looked down at her drink. 

Noticing his own employees' gazes, Raoul relented. He stopped scratching his chin and set his hand on the table next to his drink. "Flyndon's men wrote that in the crash, the flame had not instantly reached the interior of the vehicle. On impact, the steering wheel was twisted and a jagged piece went through his jugular. He suffered this for another second before the flames consumed him."

"What a way to go," Qasim murmured. "I _really _want to take a look at the wreck now."

"Why should you? They got all the evidence they needed to confirm reason of death. Everything's done with. Can't we just rest a tiny bit?" Keladry snapped. Qasim stared at her as if she'd just become a wolf. Something constricted within her chest. "I'm sorry, Qasim. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired."

Buri patted her motherly on the back. "It's okay. You'll definitely feel better later. It's your birthday isn't it? Why don't you get up and around? Mingle with people! Play pool! Get a drink, even. You only live once, eh?"

"Thanks," she nodded and got up. "Talk to you later."

She placed her hands in her pockets and wandered over to the bar to see the baseball game on the television. The Northwatch Knights were winning one to nothing. She'd noticed a few days back that Faleron was starting to interchange his usual hat with a baseball cap. It was most likely Cleon's doing, but it was a good change nonetheless. She watched two more pitches before becoming bored enough to let her eyes roam over the bar. 

A few stools down, Joren was tracing invisible circles on the bar top and muttering to his self in a language that she couldn't understand. She hopped off her stool and joined him at the shadowed end. He didn't even acknowledge her presence.

"You came," she said. Kel had no idea why she would even speak to him after that morning, but it was a way of life that she'd become accustomed to. He would embarrass her, she would pretend it never happened. They wouldn't talk for a while. And then it began again. 

Joren shrugged. "Didn't have anything else to do. Bikes are all finished. Yours is outside if you want to see."

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "You finished?"

"Yeah. I finished," he yawned. He motioned for the bartender to fill his small glass again. "You'll still have to get home the way you came here though. I'm not walking back tonight."

She nodded. "Oh, that's fine. I'm just... glad you finished." She chuckled weakly and nibbled nervously on the inside of her cheek. "Having any future plans for either bike?"

"No. If I hear about new features I could possibly add or improve upon from the fellas at Motor Plus, sure I'll work." He flung his head back as he took a shot of whisky. He exhaled sharply from the strong taste. "But until then, I'm stuck."

"Right." She recognized the name Motor Plus as this well-to-do garage not far from the DJPF Station. Joren and Qasim could practically live there. They stopped by enough for all the mechanics and employees to know how the two took their coffee. 

They sat in silence, Joren occasionally taking a sip of his drink. Keladry hoped he wouldn't seriously think of driving that night. Perhaps he ought to ask Qasim to take him home. The blonde trusted the other man enough. He definitely trusted him more than he trusted her.

__

If that's the truth, why do I even bother worrying about him? It's not like he's crying on my shoulder like on that day in Galla. That damned time in Galla was a damned pain, now that I look back on it. It's even got me cursing! She closed her eyes and let her head rest on her forearms. She could float peacefully into sleep like this. Why not? She was terribly tired. Her eyes hurt keeping them open.

But the thought of falling asleep and only having Joren nearby to look after her kept her conscious to a great degree. 

Someone cleared his throat. Startled, she flinched and opened her eyes wide. "Oh, Roald. It's you. What's up?"

Roald propped up a wooden cue against his shoulder. "The boys are killing me. Faleron especially. Nobody warned me that he could play billiards so well! I was told _poker _not billiards! This isn't fair!" he laughed out loud. He noticed Joren sitting beside her. "Stone, do you want to take my place? Someone's got to wipe that grin off his face."

Joren set his shot glass down on the bar top. "Sure. Anything that pisses off Thief Boy." He reached into his pocket and came up with enough Nobles to cover his expenses and set them down. "Let me see that."

The Vice President's son handed him the cue. Together, he and Kel watched the blonde stagger to the tables. They couldn't tell if he was drunk. His way of walking was still normal. Balance and poise were retained. She gave up trying to spot the signs and gestured for Roald to sit. 

She took a moment to study him. Black hair parted on the side, combed over like a poster boy for the perfect country club son. His pensive features made him quite difficult to talk to sometimes. But then again, she was the same way when Cleon or Neal weren't influencing her. Roald seemed to understand that she was scrutinizing him. 

"Like what you see? Or is it the other way?" he asked. Any eavesdropping stranger would think he was making a pass at her. But this was not the case. He was genuinely interested in what a friend saw in him. 

Keladry scoured the room with her eyes until she spotted his Carthakian girlfriend. Lalasa was still in deep conversation with Fianola. The earlier tension shown between the couple had vanished while the two were apart. What did that all mean? 

"Well?" he prompted her.

She turned back to him. Keladry ruefully smiled at him and took his hand in both hers. "I think you're fine. And whatever's going on will pass."

Roald's eyes softened. They glazed over just a bit. Maybe he was holding back tears. She couldn't tell. He sighed. "I sure hope so."

"I know you really care about her. I haven't known you two for that long. But the way we were all thrown together, we had no choice but to get close. And I'm happy that you two became even closer."

He touched the corner of one eye with his fingertip, trying to stop any tears from spilling over the edge of his eyelids. "I'm happy, too. I've never had a girlfriend before her, so I don't know what it's like. I knew there were bound to be bad times. I just hoped that they were few and far in between." Roald gnawed on his lower lip. Keladry idly wondered if it was him from whom she'd picked up the habit. He continued. "It's not even that big a deal, you know? Just a damn job."

"I know," she nodded. She didn't know it had been about a job, but if it was, then it would pass.

A muffled cry of outrage barely escaped Faleron's throat. They turned to look. Cleon was suppressing his laughter while Joren leaned on the edge of the pool table, tapping the butt of his cue methodically on the floor. The usually calm and composed other man with his New Yorker business hat tipped back on his head was not taking his loss well. 

"I assume that though he may be a master of Poker that billiards was up for grabs," Roald commented. 

"That shot was bloody impossible! How could he..." Faleron glared at Joren, who was smirking cockily back at him. "Bollux..."

"What did you just say?" Cleon's ears perked up. He'd always heard continual uses of the words 'fellow', 'chap', and 'bloody _something' _but this was a new one.

Faleron sighed. "At boarding school, half the teachers came with Port Legann accents. I can't help it if I picked up a few of their mannerisms!" He glared at the blonde across the table. "The game has yet to be won."

Joren spun the cue around once in his hand and then pointed it back on the table. "You're right. And after this, it will be."

A few minutes later, Cleon was consoling his friend who still couldn't believe he'd been defeated. Roald left Keladry to join them again. The somber attitude on both Roald's and Joren's faces had been lifted somewhat. For that she was happy. If she couldn't make them smile again, an innocent game of pool might as well been the peacemaker.

She leaned on her elbows, going back to staring at the baseball game again. A few older men were yelling at the umpire for some play she had just missed seeing. Northwatch Knights were down a point, but they would get it back. Their fans were certainly depending on it.

"This seat taken?" an unfamiliar voice spoke. 

"Go ahead," she answered without looking. She turned and a wave of apprehension coursed through her body, making her hair stand on end. 

The man next to her looked about Neal's age. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his earthy red tie was loosened around his neck. "Who are they playing against?"

She blinked. "Oh, uh..." Her mind searched for the name. Yellow and forest green uniforms could only mean... "Springdale."

He pointed his finger casually at the screen, noting the statistics running along the bottom. "I think Springdale's doing fine, being the Underdog and all."

"They've got Frederick Apollo for their pitcher. Good guy," she commented, while drumming her fingers on the bar top. She secretly hoped he didn't think that she was bored. That would be rude. 

"But the Knights have Leonard Raynelle. He's their powerhouse hitter."

The two strangers began a well-developed conversation on baseball. Keladry hardly ever watched the game. Most of her knowledge came from the Riders when they invited her to watch sports with them upstairs. She couldn't believe all that was paying off. She was actually having an ordinary talk with a man she didn't know.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. She'd stopped in the middle of a comparison of the experienced players and the new rookies. "I don't even know your name."

"Liam," he replied instantly, as if he'd been waiting for the opportunity. "And yours?"

"Keladry. Everyone calls me Kel."

He held out his hand to her. "Well, it is a pleasure meeting you, Kel. Maybe we could go out for a cup of coffee sometime, don't you think?"

__

Thwack!

A wooden cue slamming down on the bar top between them caused both Liam and Keladry to snatch back their hands. Keladry's mouth hung open in clear surprise. She turned to see who had struck. Joren withdrew the cue and twirled it in his right hand casually. The smirk on his face was by no means friendly. Malice was etched in his face.

"Stone!" she exclaimed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Friend of yours, I take it?" Liam asked evenly. His cool demeanor remained, though his and Joren's eyes were now locked in poisonous stares. She had never seen anyone respond so well to any of her partner's rude actions, and asked herself what it all meant.

She stood up. "Stone..."

"Have we met before?" Joren asked Liam, ignoring the angry young woman beside him.

Liam chuckled. He straightened his tie in a few swift tugs and got up as well. He placed his hands in his pockets and inhaled deeply like he were in a forest filled with fresh air. "Oh, but I most certainly never forget a face."

Joren peered at him suspiciously. "I have seen you before. I know you. I must know you."

Liam leaned forward and whispered so that Keladry couldn't hear. Though his first thought was to move away, Joren stayed where he was, still like a statue. "Perhaps you do know me. Don't be such an animal about it toward the lady, though. The last thing I need is another... _jackal _in my way." As an afterthought, he curtly nodded his head. "Mr. Stone."

"What's going on?" Keladry demanded.

The newcomer turned to her and kissed her hand. "Nothing, Miss Kel. I'll be taking my leave now. Is there a number to go with that beautiful smile of yours?"

Joren bristled. He silently mouthed the word 'NO' to her over Liam's shoulder. Keladry defiantly accepted the new acquaintance's outstretched wrist. She quickly typed her number into the man's ID/pager. Liam then took her hand and kissed it again like a true gentleman.

"Until next time," he bowed to her and swiftly retreated toward the exit. He was lost in the crowd of people before they could hear the door open to the cold night air. 

Joren spun around and scowled at her. "I told you not to do that!"

"Why are you so mad?" She stood her ground. "He wasn't going to kill me!"

"I know that man from somewhere. He's up to no good," Joren warned. "The last thing I need is my partner slandering my reputation by--"

"By having a life? Get out of my face, Stone. I have a birthday to celebrate." She marched past him. He scowled and returned to the other three men waiting for him at the pool table. Without another incident to interrupt, he mercilessly trounced Faleron a second time and left.

Having nothing else to do, Keladry did unwrap her presents in front of her friends and comrades. She received a mall gift certificate from Lalasa. Fianola bought her a popular CD. Raoul, Buri, and (according to Buri) Flyndon gave her current version of the popular DJPF book _The World's Most Dangerous Villains_. She secretly treasured this book, because the last version she'd read was years ago. 

"Open ours next!" Cleon urged. He bounced in his seat. Faleron frowned and put one hand on his friend's shoulder to hold him down. Keladry laughed. Their antics always cheered her up.

She reached for the hastily wrapped package. Most likely, Cleon had wrapped it. There were little bits of clear adhesive tape everywhere. She couldn't imagine Faleron being so messy, so it had to have been everyone's favorite redhead. "Hmm..."

She tore away the paper and opened the brown box. 

"Movie passes to Shadow Monster Part 5 and an all-day expenses paid trip to Mithran Spas?" she cast curious glances at the two young men.

"The movie passes were my idea!" Cleon grinned. 

"I bet," Neal muttered under his breath. He evaluated his aching and pained limbs. Did he have enough strength left to strangle the clown? _No, probably not, _he thought disappointedly. 

She received a great big bear hug from Cleon that left her nearly breathless before continuing on to the last present. Neal sat next to her with a great anticipation for her reaction. She carefully undid the bow and ribbon around the box and tore through the fancy wrapping paper. She assumed this had been done professionally at the mall. The last personally wrapped presents she'd received from Neal had resembled Cleon's attempts. 

After unpeeling layers of white tissue paper, she claimed her prize. A gilt frame in designs of flowers around a photograph of Neal, Owen, and herself sitting on top of a cafeteria table while their feet were on the benches. She recognized the uniforms as belonging to the Academy of Tortall. She was 16 in that picture, while Neal was 21 and Owen was 17. 

She gently set the picture frame and photo on the table before her, using the support on the back to make it stay upright. Keladry didn't know what to say. She turned to her best friend and smiled. She hadn't smiled so naturally in months. First Conal, then this. 

"Thank you."

Neal shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly. He shook his head gently. "I was digging through my photo album because I was afraid I'd forgotten what he looked like." He smiled weakly, trying not to show that he was becoming upset. "I forgot his face, Kel. It's Owen for crying out loud. It's us."

"I know," she replied. She bumped shoulders with him. "Hey, now. No more of this. Owen would laugh his head off if he were here."

"If he were."

"He's coming back Neal. And then you two can start calling me Tough Stuff again."

He chuckled. "Why wait?"

~~~

"Ooh. Your bike is actually finished," Cleon commented as they parked in the garage. Keladry took the key out of the ignition. The hover car slowly set itself down on the ground. She got out and approached her motorcycle. 

She surveyed it for the new features and for any tricks that her blonde partner might have left behind. _He wouldn't. If he ever had the notion to play a trick on me, he wouldn't take it out on a bike. He loves all of them. It's the only thing he loves._

Fianola pulled into the garage along with the rest of the Riders plus Neal. She parked in the space next to them and got out. 

"Good night, all. And Happy Birthday, Kel. I'd say more, but I'm dead tired and it's freezing," Fianola yawned. Pocketing her keys, she spun on her heel. She held her arms out to Prosper. "Pwease?"

The older Rider rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, bending his knees. She climbed onto his back and latched her arms around his neck. Prosper never failed to be anything less than the best older brother in the world-- even if Fianola wasn't his real little sister. They approached the elevator with Cleon and Qasim. 

Dom gave Neal's hopeful expression the evil eye. "Don't even think about it."

"Aww, come on."

"No way. Get into the wheelchair."

"But--"

"No 'buts'. Get." He pointed to the chrome wheelchair like a dog's master would to the door. Neal sighed and raised himself off the car seat. He managed to painfully extract himself from the van and sit himself down in the wheelchair. Dom wheeled him over to Kel and also took his turn admiring the motorcycle.

She ruffled Neal's hair when she saw the sour look on his face. "Hey, at least you're not in the hospital anymore. I bet you'll be fine by tomorrow."

"I _am _fine! Nobody believes me!"

Dom poked Neal's bicep lightly.

"OW! Quit it!"

"Sure. Of _course _you're fine."

Later, when Keladry was back in her apartment, getting ready for bed, she started to wonder about the man she'd met at the pool hall, Liam. Something inside her agreed with Joren. There was a bad vibe to the charming stranger. Almost the same sorts of vibe she'd received when she'd met the silver haired man, Enishi Yukishiro.

She shuddered. Perhaps it had been a bad thing to have given Liam her number.

__

Don't be paranoid. He's a handsome guy. And if he tries anything, I can always break his arm. Years of combat training aren't going to let me down.

Keladry almost hoped that Liam wouldn't contact her at all. She didn't date. If he were to call her and set up a time for coffee and a little conversation, it would definitely be a date. She didn't need this sort of pressure! As a very important and highly skilled First Class officer of the DJPF, she had to concentrate on her work! 

__

I am such a prude and a busybody, she inwardly groaned. She threw her coat on the couch as well as her bag of gifts. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawned and headed toward the bathroom. While squeezing toothpaste out of the tube, she looked up at the mirror. 

"Twenty-one," she said aloud. She turned her head this way and that, trying to pick up a feature that definitely stood out as twenty-one. A freckle under her left eye, her serious eyebrows-- it was all so commonplace. There was nothing new about her. Another year had passed and she was still the same boring Keladry Mindelan.

And yet, comparing herself on the inside, she found many differences. A year ago exactly, she wouldn't nearly be expressing as many emotions as she expressed now. People like Neal had to respect her need for space. Other people, like Cleon and Faleron had done this as well.

__

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Cleon said as they walked back to their rooms in the Academy. "But you look like you listen, even if you're trying to remain emotionless." He snickered. "I'll tell you something, you can't pull it off. To be emotionless is to be a jackass like Stone there downstairs. You're just trying to remain distanced. And I can respect that."

Keladry certainly wasn't trying to be as distanced as she was a year ago. There were still a lot of things that she was reluctant to do, but by all means, she was definitely closer to people than last year. She was actually very proud of herself. Leaving her self vulnerable to injury and hurt with other people also left her self open to great things like joy and happiness.

After finishing her whole nightly routine, she crawled into bed and turned off the light. It had been a good birthday. It was a little confusing, and very awkward, but it had been the best one she'd ever had.

~~~

Keladry woke up to the sound of doorbells-- her doorbell, really, ringing over and over again. She kicked back the covers clumsily and yawned. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and groaned a tiny bit as she stood up. Her body's minor aches and pains protested such quick movements. It didn't seem right that at the age of 21, she was already waking up feeling like she was 40. Next thing she knew, she'd most likely be going to physical therapy and complaining of arthritis.

"Wonder who this is," she muttered sleepily while exiting the bedroom. "Stop it already!" she called because of the continual ringing. Of course, her visitor couldn't hear her. She didn't even bother to check the peephole or ask the person(s)' name, and let the door slide open.

At the last second, she realized what a mess she might look, at 6:30 in the morning with a long sleeved white T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of baby blue socks. Ah well. It wasn't like an important person visited her at every hour. Who could it be? _Flyndon? _A chuckle escaped her throat.

Or a Rider. One of them could be desperately trying to avoid the rest of their team. Every so often, they had disputes and the odd one out would duck into a non-Rider's apartment for a night or two. She honestly didn't feel like having a houseguest, but she was too kind to say no.

"Ahem?" 

Her eyes widened at the sound of the voice. 

"Er... Chief Flyn..."

The older man nodded his head in greeting to her. He cleared his throat. At once, Keladry stepped hastily to the side to allow him entrance. She stifled another yawn behind her hand and resisted the impulse to slap her cheeks so as to wake herself up. She combed her fingers through her hair unconsciously, trying to tidy up her appearance in front of her boss.

Flyndon Whiteford didn't seem to care. He glanced back into the hall, as if expecting more people to arrive. For the first time since she opened the door, Keladry noticed that there were noises all around. People were talking in loud voices, doors were being abruptly closed and opened. 

"I was told you'd be awake at this hour. Officer Kennan told me you woke before the sun, on a regular basis."

She blinked. "I was up late last night celebrating my birthday, Chief."

"Yes, yes. I was told about that, too." He held his hands behind his back and nodded again. "Anyway, that isn't why I'm here. The whole complex is being called out to work. Buri's people, my people, and Raoul's."

Keladry frowned. "What happened?"

Flyndon scratched his chin. He sighed and glanced down at his feet, as if there were cue cards on the floor for him to read off of. Keladry tilted her head to the side a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes. He finally spoke. 

"During the early morning hours, every single bank in Tusaine was robbed."

__

That's impossible! her mind cried.

"Every single one?"

He coughed. "All except the Mithran United. I don't believe I have to tell you that that bank is the central bank of this city." He gestured toward her bedroom. "Get dressed, Officer. You're on call right now, along with the rest of the residents of this apartment complex. I believe the rest of your partners are assembled on the elevated walkway. You will be briefed there."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, Sir!"

__

How is that possible? There is something like almost thirty small business banks in this huge city! How can all of them be robbed unless... there are greater forces at work here. Sounds like something the Organized Crime Division will take over soon, or in this case, Buri.

Keladry closed the door after him again and sprinted to her closet to get her field uniform on. She fumbled with her Hyperion Bands. It took exactly one second to snap each one on, and so she continued putting the links on for the next three minutes. She fitted her other clothing and gear over that and grabbed her weapons last.

Before she proceeded to the door, she stopped in her kitchen and drank half a glass of water. There was no need to be sleepy and dehydrated. This new operation could last a while. She set the glass down in the sink carefully and left for the outdoor walkway.

She collided with another person the second she stepped into the hall. 

"Oof!" 

Hands gloved in black leather gripped her shoulders to steady both of them. She locked her knees and braced herself against the imbalance. "Whoa, Mindelan. Slow down! The level of high alert has every officer from here to five miles outside of town on call. There's no rush."

"Stone!" she exclaimed.

He eyed her. "Why so surprised? If you hadn't noticed, I live here, too."

"Er, sorry," she mumbled.

"You should be," he replied icily, no tact for her feelings. He started toward the elevator. "Well, come on. They're waiting for us."

She glared daggers at his back, but followed without saying anything further. They arrived on the second floor without bumping into each other again. Joren seemed more awake and alert than she was. He'd probably woken up the second that a squad car had pulled up outside. She remembered without difficulty how easily Joren could be awakened or interrupted. 

__

At a pin drop, she mused, _if he's annoyed enough._

She looked over the side of the walkway and saw units of officers being briefed. Lines of squad cars and motorcycles left the underground garage in a mass of sirens and flashing lights. Other residents of the neighborhood were out on their lawns, clad in slippers, robes, and curlers. They watched the commotion and began gossiping about the reason. The chill would drive them back in soon enough. 

A media van pulled up below, setting down on the ground as the hovering stopped. A woman in a gray feminine suit and large gold earrings practically jumped out, flanked by her camera man and another man with a headset. They raced towards the closest officer, who was directing traffic out of the community's main public parking lot.

Keladry could feel the goose bumps on her flesh out there in the cold early morning air. Little rays of sunshine were already spilling over the horizon, but not enough to have called it sunrise. The air would only become warmer when the sun was up, and that might be a few more minutes. Keladry rubbed her upper arms and shivered.

"You forgot your jacket, right?" Cleon observed.

Chief Flyndon was talking, but she ignored her superior at the moment to answer the redhead. "I guess I did. I'll get it after briefing is over."

He nodded and without another word, removed his own dark green jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She mouthed a silent "thank you" and he mouthed something that was like "don't mention it". They tuned back in to Flyndon.

Among the small group were a few of Flyndon's officers from the first floor, a couple of Buri's Second Class investigators and detectives, Cleon, and her. She wondered where Joren had gone. She spotted Buri and Joren at the other end of the walkway talking with Buri's own intelligence agents. Keladry hardly saw Buri's people. The division was always shrouded in mystery. She wondered what they did half the time.

"The Marshall and his people are already accompanying the chase vehicles for the suspects that were spotted at Tusaine National." Here he started to mutter. "Not that he should be. A Marshall's duty is to the federal courts, and here he is, butting in on my jurisdiction again. He and Buri are always doing this to me!" He cleared his throat and began to speak to the rest of them again.

"Those suspects are the only ones we've spotted so far. The rest have eluded pursuit." He reached into his coat and drew out a small database with a projecting window. He pointed it at the ground. Automatically, some officers backed up so there was room.

A map of the city was projected onto the floor of the walkway. A second officer, at the youngest... thirty-five with a freshly shaved face and eyes red from lack of sleep, took the projector from Flyndon while the DJPF Chief also took out a laser pointer to use on the map.

"The chase has been thus far, from 1st Street to Bridgington Boulevard. We have enough people on that, so all that's left is to secure the other locations." He motioned for the officer holding the projector to highlight the banks. In a few seconds, yellow spots appeared on the map where the banks were located. "Nine main branches of banks and eighteen minor banks were robbed between the hours of one and four this morning." He tapped the aiding officer's arm. "Go ahead and turn that off, Symric.

"The minor banks were easier to take care of. No guards, just security systems. They were hit first and fast. Officers flocked to each bank. That was enough distraction for the remainder of whatever band of suspects there were to strike at the main branch banks. The security guards posted at these banks had already been alerted when the other minor banks were infiltrated. But from what we understand, the suspects were greater in number and skill." He paused. "They had common sense enough to take out guards and then the security camera right after they entered, so there is a chance that there were more of them."

Keladry raised her hand to get his attention. "If the times of robbery are spaced out enough, may we assume that some suspects robbed one bank and moved on to another? Or does every single branch have its own unique set of criminals?"

He responded quickly enough that she assumed that the idea had already been brought up. "We may, but until we can identify them, we won't know." He addressed the whole group. "Now, when you arrive at your assigned location, I want every single one of you on high alert." He scratched his forehead. "The Feds are sending out their third class newbies to do their damn fingerprinting and whatever else those guys usually do, so you're going to have to baby-sit them. Be warned! They _will _spaz at the first sign of gunfire."

A few officers in the group snickered. Cleon elbowed Keladry lightly in the side. She put on a brief smile to show she was amused, too, although she could have cared less. 

"Jameson, Pedion-- you go to Niffup National. Meet Clyde there and he'll set you two to work. Gerard and Nialliv-- relieve Abbey and Tsutomu from the chase. If Raoul yells for you to get out of his way, then do it. Fall back and follow the Marshall. I'll have his hide yet." Some laughter erupted from a few Second Class men and women. 

He turned to the remaining officers. "The rest of you are at Mithran United. I don't know what these scum have planned, but they most likely will finish the job by hitting the last bank. You First Classes are in charge. And _yes, _Wolset, before you ask." He rubbed his forehead in a sign of weariness. "That _does_ mean that you can order the Second Class SWAT team around, too. Move out!"

The officer next to the one holding the projector blushed and grinned. Symric handed the projector back to Flyndon and raced toward the elevators like the rest of the officers were. Keladry and Cleon ran at the back of the pack, trying to keep up while talking.

Cleon was fit, but talking while running was just something he couldn't do well. "You... really think they're... gonna hit Mithran United?"

Keladry pulled him out of the way from a departing hover bike with a Second Class officer on it. Out of the group just ordered by Flyndon to go with them, there were four First Classes (including herself, Cleon, Wolset, and Symric), and then six Second Classes from Buri's division . Most of their fellow officers were older, save for Wolset. Wolset was also 22, like Cleon. He'd been a favorite of Flyndon's and a good buddy of Dom's prior to Kel's move to Tusaine. 

It must have been a difficult task to get into Flyndon's good graces at such a young age. Had Wolset been a workaholic like her? Or had he gotten a lucky break and done something that rewarded him with his status. She didn't want to disprove his skills, but if _she_ had worked so hard to get where she was, she'd be damned if he'd had an easy climb up.

His mostly sunny disposition reminded her of Cleon, and yet, Wolset had much more control and maturity than the copper-headed sharp shooter. While Cleon acted like a man wanting to be a boy again, Wolset reminded her of a boy disguising himself as a man. His physical features were boyish. Curly locks of brown muted with a tinge of dark gray. She couldn't describe the color very well, but it reminded her of the dead bark of trees in the harsh middle of winter. He had tiny freckles around his eyes and thin lips. She wouldn't have noticed the freckles a few weeks before. the blotches of dark on his skin indicated that he was just started to shed skin from his summer tan. His eyes? Ocean blue.

"I haven't had an assignment like this in a while," Wolset said as he joined them. Theirs was the last squad car to leave, so he was bumming a ride in the back seat. The got into the hover car and sped out of the parking lot. "It's mostly been mafia and gang wars for the last few years."

"No kidding," Cleon replied. He patted his right ear. "Stupid sirens always annoy the hell out of me! Are we there yet?"

"Are you ever going to stop asking that question when we're in a car?" Keladry asked, exasperated. She made a hard left just to fling him around.

He braced himself against the window. "I can't help it!" He settled back into his seat as she turned the wheel back again and began driving with more caution. "Boy, am I happy to finally be getting some First Class action."

"What do you call what we did two days ago?!"

"That's an isolated incident, isn't it? Noll wasn't apart of some syndicate trying to get Lalasa for conspiracy-like reasons! All these banks getting robbed in one night! That is _so _a conspiracy!"

"There have to be something like five or more suspects in charge... key players in a conspiracy. Those suspects have to be like... the mayor taking bribes, or the weapons dealer on the corner, all setting up lies and deceptions to throw us off. You think that's what this is?" she challenged.

He threw his hands up. "You know what I mean! This is just like the thing that I heard in the news of something that went down in Pirate's Swoop. You think we'll get interviewed?"

Wolset interrupted. "I thought that almost everyone in the complex had a no-speak order placed on him or her. Personally, I hate reporters."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to get to know that blonde from Channel 46. You think she digs redheads?"

"Cleon! Focus here!"

"But I am focusing," he whined. "I'm focusing in on my future wife!"

She rolled her eyes. "Wife? Sure..."

"What, you don't think I could get a girl like that?"

"I don't think you _want _a girl like that." She shrugged. "Probably drag the microphone with her into bed and try to interview you at 2 AM in the morning." She glanced at him. "Besides, aren't you madly in love with Kalasin?"

Her copper headed friend groaned and slumped in his seat, shoving the seat belt away from his face. "I hate monogamy! I hate it!" He sighed. "Do you think they'll legalize polygamy anytime soon?"

She and Wolset laughed at him and before they knew it, they had arrived at Mithran United. Keladry was still memorizing her way around the city, so she stared at the digital map above the gages and tried to imprint it upon her mind. 

"Okay, boys. Let's go." She turned off the car, waiting for it to set itself gently down before getting out. She opened Wolset's door for him since the back seat was designed so suspects couldn't break out or attempt to injure the passengers in the front seat.

They jogged up the twenty stone steps leading up from the street onto the plaza where the bank was located. Most of the bank was set in stone, designed by architects trying to imitate neo-classical designs from ancient-founded Corus. A statue of a lion was set in front of the main doors. It was actually a manmade fountain. Five spouts surrounded the lion's feet and sprayed water into the air, creating little ripples in the fountain's pale blue pool. 

"Why does the lion face in?" she asked rhetorically out loud. Of course it was a stupid question, with no answer. It was some arbitrary feature to the plaza.

"Kel, come on," Cleon urged. "Let's get inside and see what's going down. We can order around the lower class officers! It'll cheer you up!" He held up a scolding finger at her. "We have this wonderful opportunity where we are the ones in charge (rightly deserved!) and I'll be darned if we don't use it!"

She glimpsed from the corner of her range of vision. "Give me a second." She narrowed her eyes and let out a deep breath. _There's something wrong with this statue. What's so wrong with it? _Then it came to her. "Hey, Cleon, if you were designing a plaza that opened on one side to the streets and public parking garage, which way would you face the lion?"

He scratched his head, shrugging as he answered. "Uh, I'd face it toward the street so people would see it when they came up the steps."

"Well, this one doesn't face the street, does it?"

"Yeah, so? The builders just goofed, or the bankers want to keep the view of the lion to themselves. It's no big deal." He grabbed her gloved hand. "Come on, already! Symric's yelling for us."

Since she was unable to find anything amiss, she walked with him into the bank. The rotating doors of glass were spotless, as were the brass bars placed on the door. As soon as they were inside, she could heard the echoes of her boot heels clicking on the white and cream marble floor. 

Keladry looked up, and realized there was a second floor to the bank, and the balcony surrounding the main area was made of stone. Bullets repeatedly fired in one area could send a chunk of builder's stone onto a person standing below. She hoped it would never happen. _Same thing with the glass chandelier, she thought, tilting her head back evens_ further to see the ceiling. The ceiling, besides having a glass chandelier, had paintings on it, surrounding the chandelier center in a circle so that the lighting was an advantage. 

"What's on the second floor?" she asked, and tugged on a person's coarse-textured sleeve to her left without taking her eyes off her topic of question.

"Uh... that's where one goes to open an account, or settle financial problems. It's mostly offices and cubicles, but all the employees are down here like Symric ordered." There was a pause. "Unless you _wanted _to interrogate the fax machines and computers... it can be arranged."

She looked at the sardonic speaker to discover having grabbed a Second Class DJPF officer on the SWAT team instead of Cleon, who had wandered to the group of bank employees and officers on the other side of the room. The man was a little over her height, and his build was hard to determine under the heavy black gear he was required to wear. The SWAT teams and bomb squads weren't so lucky as the rest of the officers in the DJPF because they were required to wear stronger armor than Hyperion Bands. 

Keladry was somewhat intimidated by his confident brown eyes against olive skin... straight and proud nose and strong chin. His hair was black and cut like Faleron's hair-- short and flattened against his head instead of sticking out. It was a bit longer than Faleron's hair, though. There was no way she could mistake him for her former thief of a friend since their heights were obviously different. He could never be on the front of a celebrity magazine, but he wasn't ugly. His appearance was merely average. Keladry shocked herself by realizing that she preferred average.

"Er..." She blinked three times in row, wondering how she could get herself out of the little spot of embarrassment. _That's what you get for tugging without looking. _She peered at him closely, in a way that she reserved for people she was trying to recognize. Perhaps she'd seen him around...

"Ulliver Linden. You... grabbed my arm?" he supplied when he noticed the type of look she was giving him. He flashed her a bemused, yet amused smile.

"Right," she nodded, as if the description was the very explanation of humanity's existence. "Sorry. Very. I meant... to, um... grab him." She pointed to Cleon. She could have kicked herself for being unable to form more than one-word sentences. She resolved to stop stuttering and breathed in deep. She was one of the people in charge at the moment and she wasn't making a good first impression! "I'm sorry. You just caught me off guard, Officer Linden. So I assume the vault is still here on the main floor behind the tellers, correct?"

He nodded, slinging the strap of his semi-automatic assault rifle over his right shoulder. "You assume correctly, Officer..." he squinted at the pager on her wrist. "Mindelan. Hmm, nice name. Anyway, have you any orders for my men and me besides the orders that the loudmouth over there gave?" He indicated Symric. "Because honestly, I think there's more here than meets the eye."

Keladry glanced about. "I don't have any orders at the moment." She looked down at her pager to discover her jacket sleeve had fallen over it. "Oh, great. Cleon!" She took off the green jacket and threw it at the approaching redhead. "Sorry. You must be freezing."

"It's all good," he shrugged and put on the jacket. His arms had been in fact a tad bit chilly, but she had no need to know that. He squinted at the weapon that Ulliver was carrying. "Is that a Stoner Sr-5 assault rifle? No way! I haven't seen one of those since..." he stopped when he noticed the pain in his left Triceps from Keladry pinching it through his Hyperion Bands. "Owie!" He calmed down. "Sorry."

Ulliver grinned. "I like variety in my arsenal. The other boys have the more top of the line toys." He paused and laughed nervously. "That rhymed. I'm so sorry. Didn't mean to be corny."

"It's okay," Kel assured him. There went all her chances for her and Cleon to look dignified in front of the others.

"Aw man, I'd like to have been in SWAT," Cleon said dreamily. "That probably would have happened if I hadn't been promoted straight to First Class."

"Only so many of us could be so lucky," Ulliver commented with a hint of derision.

Keladry pinched Cleon again. He yelped and rubbed his arm. "Right! Uh, sorry to leave so soon. I think Wolset's calling for me!"

After he was gone, Keladry coughed lightly. "I'm sorry about that. He can be a bit insensitive about things, like classes."

"Perfectly fine. I'd have liked to have a guy like him in my squad. Knows his guns."

"He's a sharpshooter. He loves guns." _By Glory, I'm actually making conversation like I did last night with Liam. Why am I doing this? Does turning 21 mean entering a flirt-fest? _She snapped to attention and moved one foot forward to start walking. "Since you arrived here earlier than my people, Officer Linden, do you mind telling me what's been done so far?"

He took the hint and started walking with her toward the tellers' desks. "I'm sure you've already been told that all the banks in the city save for this one have been closed due to the robberies."

She hadn't been informed, but it made sense and so, she remained silent. 

"The first impulse was to close this bank down, too, but the fact is... people have to do their banking. It's of a financial importance to some citizens who have debts, or are in serious need to withdraw money from their accounts. So, they've kept this one open, and are letting in clients and customers in small groups only after they've been through the metal detector and what not outside." He gestured to his SWAT team and the other officers inside the bank. "The perimeters are secure, we have an 2 to 1 ration of officers to bank employees, and the vault is perfectly safe."

Keladry nodded her approval. "And do we have a course of action, should anything happen?"

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, a little inflection in his voice that caused her to swallow hard. She rattled her brain for a scenario.

"A suspect, maybe more... get past the metal detector and inspections with a weapon and try to take a teller hostage while his accomplices break into the vault."

He pointed upwards. "There are camouflaged snipers on the second floor, ready to take any guy out without hurting the hostage. There's also a hostage negotiator here, if I'm not mistaken. All tellers are flanked by at least one officer. The vault is only opened twice a day, and there are three employees that all must enter their codes to open it. Two of those employees aren't here."

"Impressive."

"Thank you. I take that to heart since you are a glorious First Class and I'm still in this less-than-worthy 'Second Caste'. I'm sure four of you are worth more than my entire squad."

Keladry couldn't tell whether or not he was complimenting her or being sarcastic again. She could feel her face becoming hotter. Was she flushed? _Okay, why has their been an increase in smooth talking men in my life? First Faleron, then Yukishiro, Liam, and now this guy? Glory! What am I supposed to do?! I don't even know if he's insulting me or not! _"Officer Linden, you have no need to say such things. Your squad is as close to First Class as some other officers could ever hope to be. You practically _are _First Class in all respects except name."

"And privilege," he added. "Oh, and pay check. Can't forget that one."

"The skill is the important thing."

"I'll remember that, Officer."

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" Wolset asked as he came to stand between them. 

Keladry took a step backward to give Ulliver and him space. "No, of course not. What is it?"

"Gerard, Nialliv, and the Riders apprehended four suspects they'd chased from the Roget Bank at the end of Bridgington Boulevard. We'll hear from Chiefy when he and Buri have finished their questioning." He rested a friendly hand on Ulliver's shoulder. "Hey, Linden. How's your girlfriend? It was Maureen, right?"

Keladry winced. There was a part of her that wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Another part of her wanted to stuff a gag in Ulliver's mouth to keep him from smooth-talking ever again. Wolset clearly had no idea of what was going through her head because he continued. Why was she even getting riled up? She wasn't attracted to Ulliver. 

It was simply the fact that he talked to her like Liam had the night before. She wasn't a busybody freak and she wasn't beyond the normal day-to-day activities of others. Kel liked that feeling, and she liked the people who gave her that feeling. 

"She was a hot number if I remember. You're a lucky guy, head of your squad and got that lady of yours..."

__

I haven't known you for long, Wolset, but I swear I wouldn't mind sending a letter home to your folks saying you died in a horrible 'accident'! Keladry thought.

"Oh, um, Maureen left me, Wolsie." At the nickname, Keladry frowned, but otherwise chose not to interrupt. "I've sort of decided to stay out of relationships for a while."

"Oh." He nodded sympathetically. Then he noticed how Keladry was glaring at him. "OH! Um, I'd better go. Symric's calling me."

He left as hurriedly as Cleon had, leaving Ulliver very confused and Keladry very humiliated. She scratched the side of her nose. Why did people always scratch their heads or necks when they were nervous? She knew. When a person was nervous, sometimes they got this prickling feeling in their skin where the skin cells contracted around hair follicles. This caused hairs to stand on end and also to give goose bumps. Usually, only cold temperatures and environments provoked this, but anxiety could do the same thing. Her skin itched under its Hyperion Bands.

Was it because she was cold or because she was nervous?

"Anyway," she began. "Who do you suppose is involved in these grand scale robberies?"

Ulliver adjusted the strap of the assault rifle hanging from his shoulder. He must have been warm under all that gear and body armor. Were the lead vests warm? Hyperion Bands served the same purpose, but there were types of bullets that could pierce them. Kevlar vests were much more reliable. They worked for most types of ammunition. He must have been warm.

"I think they're new, whoever they are. I've been in Tusaine for a long time, and I know the trends of crime around here. It's the Mob against the Other Mob and then...there are drugs, extortion, murder, prostitution, and loan sharks... small time theft, grand theft auto. The _Mafia_," he trailed off. "The Mob and the Mafia aren't the same, contrary to some ignorant people's belief."

"I know," she nodded. "So, really, no one in Tusaine robs banks?"

"No. They seem to be limiting themselves to organized crime and the such. I mean, you get your embezzlers now and then, but they never make it past the front door before they're caught."

Keladry had always thought that Tusaine was Metropolis and Carthak was Gotham City. Perhaps it was different. Perhaps Tusaine turned into Carthak at night and she'd never realized it before because she was still awe-struck whenever she walked around the city during the day, admiring its beauty. 

"Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd already run into a Mafioso and not even realized it."

"What makes you say that?" she asked wearily.

He chuckled. "Well, the city's crawling with them. They're so well behaved in public that no one can tell them apart from your Average Joe."

"I see. Thank you for the heads-up, Officer Linden."

"No prob," he replied. "I've got go keep my boys in line. Perhaps you'd better get back to your own as well."

She nodded. "Right... right. I'll do that. We'll talk later, Officer Linden."

"Major Linden, really. I'm the head of the SWAT team, after all," he added at the last moment. He inclined his head. "Talk to you later, Officer Mindelan. Or should I say Commander?"

He was starting to piss her off with that perpetual hint of sarcasm in his voice. Some things he said were quite charming, but Keladry saw now that it was just plain annoying. She rejoined Cleon, Wolset, and Symric. They were watching a few civilians file in, looking pale as sheets while clutching their briefcases or handbags with white knuckles that were drained of blood from clutching so tightly. 

__

They look like they're going to piss in their pants, she observed. It was a little cruel of her to think that way, but that's exactly what the bank's clients looked like as they scurried in and out. She bet they were expecting an attack at any moment. _If I were one of them, I'd probably expect it, too._

"Good news," Wolset said, snagging her attention. "Money from three of the minor banks was recovered from the four suspects that were caught in the chase. You were right, Mindelan, they did go bank hopping."

"Bank-hopping?" She'd never heard the phrase before.

"Aw, you know... how people go plane hopping? They get on one after another... and with bank-hopping..." He gazed at her with an empathy.

She waved him off, a little snappy from her morning. "I get it, I get it!" After the group of bank customers had filed up, another group was led in. "What time is it?"

"About 9:20. The line of civilians outside is starting to build up," Cleon commented as he glanced outside the window. "Symric, when do those two other employees that can open the vault show up?"

"Not for another three hours," the bossy older man answered from where he was directing other Second Class officers. 

Cleon groaned. "Well I give up. There's nothing to do but wait."

Keladry's pager started beeping. She lifted her wrist to eye level and read the message. "Dom wants to talk."

"I think there's a COM-screen over there."

"No, he's in a hurry. I'll just waste my battery and talk to him through the pager," she responded and excused herself from the group. After settling next to a column of marble near the rotating glass doors, she pressed a few buttons and waited for Dom's voice to float over the tiny receiver.

"Hello, Kel. I can only hope that Flyn hasn't ordered you out of your apartment yet."

"You're out of luck. I'm at Mithran United."

He muttered something incoherent. "It was just that I need somebody to look after Neal. He is getting better, like he claims, but I don't want him to trip and fall and then be prone on the floor for hours..."

__

I don't think he could ever be that helpless, but guess it could happen. "I see."

"Do you know anyone left in the complex willing to play nurse for a while? Just until I get back."

"Both buildings were turned upside down and shaken out. Every officer is on this crisis right now."

"No kidding. Well, do you know anyone else who might be free?"

She mulled over the options. "If you want to risk the wrath of Councilwoman Daine Sarrasri, you can call Roald, Lalasa, and Faleron at her office. You've met them before."

"Yeah, yeah. We just saw them last night. Why do you say I'd be risking Ms. Sarrasri's wrath?"

Keladry grimaced. "It's just that I or someone else always ends up begging her to let Roald and Lalasa off work to be with us." She paused. "You'd have the best of luck with Roald. He hardly ever takes breaks from... whatever it is that he does."

"Alright then. I'll look the number up right now. Thanks!"

"You're welcome. Bye." She terminated the connection. Roald would probably love to get away from work. Or at least, take a break from his little hardships with Lalasa. Keladry had no idea how long the period of uncertainty and resentment was going to last between t he two of them, but if she knew them well enough- they would eventually make up and live happily ever after. 

She'd strayed into the path of the rotating doors without realizing it. Her shoulder hit someone else entering the bank. "Whoops!" she said to the man carrying two boxes of donuts. He was dressed as a detective from the Feds. She could see his badge peeking out from under his coat. "Sorry!"

"It's okay. Excuse me," he said and headed towards some scared bank tellers. 

__

The tellers are allowed to leave the bank because of security measures. He was kind to bring them some food. 

"Okay," the detective said. "Go ahead and have the first box now, but wait until lunch for the second box, okay? I don't feel like going on so many food runs."

The tellers thanked him and attacked the first box of donuts as soon as it was set down on the counter. Cleon was close to drooling. "Do you think they have those vanilla creme ones? Or powdered is nice. I like powdered ones."

"They're not _for you._"

"So? I didn't have breakfast either, you know!"

"Neither did I. You and I get a break at lunch, you know that. So don't fret over food right now, okay?"

He sighed melodramatically. "Okay. But I just want you to know that you're killing me right now! I can see the headlines right now: _Handsome Redhead Stud Of An Officer Starves In Tusaine Bank!"_

"Too long," Keladry told him. "Try _Clown Cries Vanilla Creme Crisis._"

"Ooh. I like."

Hours passed. Keladry patrolled numerous winding paths within and outside Mithran United to keep herself occupied. Symric took on the role of the commander while Wolset did his best to disrupt Symric and Symric's orders. The older officer was apt to point out that he'd had years of more experience than the 22-year-old had. Wolset was, in turn, eager to point out that the more talented of the two (namely, himself) didn't need that many years to up himself in the ranks.

The battle of wits continued between the two rivals while the Second Class officers watched for a brawl to break out. They were even making bets to see who would win. Most of them were for Wolset because he had his youthful body. Some practical ones bet on Symric for his experience and stamina. 

It was about half past 11 when Keladry came downstairs for her lunch break. She'd ignored the war of wits between the only other First Class officers in Mithran United besides Cleon and her. It appeared as another pointless Testosterone War to her. She'd seen her fair share of the types, and she regrettably wished she hadn't.

Cleon had been seated on the top of a counter separating the tellers from the bank's clients. He yawned and groaned when she was within hearing range. "Please tell me it's time to eat!"

Keladry checked the digital clock on her pager. She eyed how antsy Cleon was acting. He fidgeted and bit his lip. Like the scared customers who entered the bank, he also looked like he wasn't going to be able to contain himself.

"Yeah, I'd say it's about time. The box of donuts is still there, Mr. Vanilla Creme."

Cleon jumped off his seat and whooped, pumping a fist into the air. "Oh yeah!"

"Is something wrong?" Symric called. He'd mistaken Cleon's shout of joy as a shout of ambush or attack. When he saw who'd caused the noise, he growled loudly. "Get him under control!"

Keladry nodded and turned around to see her friend duck and weave through a line of civilians. Cleon yelled an apology to a robust man with a beard after bumping into him. He made a distinct beeline for the food that had been untouched for hours. Wolset snickered as he moved to stand besides her, having taken his own break from his battle with the bossy Symric.

The new acquaintance pointed a thumb in the sharpshooter's direction. "Is he always like this about food?"

"Not usually." She paused and grimaced. "If it were his best friend, though... the lunch break wouldn't even matter." She thought about Faleron's insatiable desire for all things sweet and delectable. "Yup. They're terrible."

Wolset laughed. "So do you think Sym will let us out of the plaza to get a bite to eat? We've been cooped up in here for hours!"

Keladry shrugged. "I don't--"

"_SHIT_!" 

Everyone in the whole entire bank whirled around wherever they were to see Cleon stumble back from the teller's counter, landing on his butt. He scrambled to his feet, panting hard and pointing at the open donut box.

"I swear! I didn't do anything!" he cried. His voice rose and fell with apprehension and distress. "I just opened the box!" 

Several people ran over to where he was standing, Kel included. Cleon ducked behind her and Wolset, peering fretfully over their shoulders. 

__

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The red face of a digital clock attached with wires to a black casing that seemed like it was coming straight out of an action movie. The methodical and precise ticking of the timer echoed with each second passing by, sounding their doom. Keladry shivered and involuntarily stepped back.

A bomb.

All at once, Symric and Wolset both began shouting orders, most of which didn't contradict each other. That was good, Keladry thought absently, because good portions of the persons around were panicking enough as it was. Cleon squeezed her arm.

"That box has been here for hours! How come no one noticed it was ticking?"

"I... I don't know," she answered. She took a deep breath and set her shoulders straight and her head high. "Start evacuating civilians and tellers with the rest of the SWAT team." She shook off his grip and whistled to Ulliver, who was the only one nearby with any rank.

"Hey! How about diffusing that thing? I don't like how it says 29:01 minutes left!" 

He jogged over, his brow furrowed. "Look! We're not the bomb squad! There are only so many fucking things we can do!"

She impatiently glanced around her. "Well, has someone alerted the bomb squad yet?"

"Yeah, I think Wolsie's on it."

__

There is a bomb. 

She closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. "How did it make it past the detectors?"

__

Time is running out. There is a bomb and time is running _out. _

"We're still trying to figure that out."

__

How big will the explosion be? Will the building collapse? Will I die?

She swore louder this time, so overcome with stress that she ignored her usual practice of non-swearing. "The Detective who brought in donuts! There was a box of real donuts and then the other box was supposed to be for lunch!" She balled up her fists. "Damn it!"

__

Death won't look so good on your record. Hey! How can I be so selfish? I'm a perfectionist, and I'm sorry for my thoughts! I can't help it! I just don't want that damn thing to explode! I don't want to die and I certainly don't want anyone else to either!

Idly, Keladry wondered if she was having going to have a panic attack. After a bit of shivering and the sensation of something squeezing her chest really tightly, she got back the control she needed and also started giving orders like Wolset and Symric were. All the tellers and civilians were being evacuated, but the tellers were kept in custody for questioning. 

It was possible that one of the tellers planted the bomb since they'd crowded around the donut boxes earlier that morning. Several officers led them outside and kept them in groups on the other side of the plaza. Other Second Class officers surrounded the building to make sure none approached. 

"No one here can disarm it, huh?" she said, hope failing be present in her voice.

"No. One of my guys identified that there's a enough C-4 in there to level this place, but that's it. They've got some complicated wires."

"Wouldn't some of them be dummy wires? There can't be that many," Keladry insisted vehemently. She remembered taking an advanced class on this years ago. Bombs, although very delicate, weren't as hard as they made it look in the movies.

Ulliver shook his head. "If there were any, we have no way of telling them apart."

The two stood in silence, while members of the SWAT team and other officers were running frantically around them. A barricade of sorts was set up around the bomb still on the counter. It seemed irrational to have a barricade, seeing as that when the bomb finally went off, it wouldn't contain the explosion.

In the midst of all the noise and shouting, Keladry threw her consciousness into this deep protective place inside of herself. Nothing could hurt her there. The world stood still. She could rest in a blissful cocoon of warmth and happiness. 

__

Let the others handle it. They're trained for it. They can look after themselves.

No. 

I can't do that. I am an officer of duty. I... I...

I don't know what else to do. Everything is out of my control! I want control! I want to take things into my own hands and fix them like a clockmaker fixes his clocks. So careful, so precise. There is no clock he can't fix.

Clock. Time. The clock is ticking. 

Damn it. It'd be nice if the clockmaker could break his clock so the ticking would stop.

Her eyes opened, a realization dawning upon her. 

"The Detective who brought in the donuts! Does anyone know his name?" If she apprehended the guy and brought him into the bank, he would have to disarm it or else be killed as well! She grabbed Ulliver by his collar and jerked him up close so that she stared right into his eyes like a crazed maniac.

"We had assumed he was just another guy from the Feds. He certainly knew how to act." He tugged himself free and eyed her suspiciously. "You got a plan brewing up there, Officer?"

"Yeah, Major. I do." Keladry felt a bit of the weight on her shoulder lifted temporarily. There was hope. If she knew one thing with her experiences with bombers, terrorists, or creepy criminals in general was that if they planned a really intricate attack or even showed their face once... they would stick around to see the fireworks. The 'Detective' had been seen by plenty of people. There was no doubt in her mind that he was around there somewhere. If only she could stick a name to the face and ID him. She didn't know where to start looking.

But there was hope.

"Okay. How many more minutes until the bomb squad get here?"

"They're almost here. But even then... we're not sure if they'll have enough time to disarm it or get it out of the city." He paused. "Nope. We can't get it out of the city fast enough. Maybe if we had a helicopter and flew it out, but I doubt we can get one in time. The thing's down to twenty minutes. Should we start clearing out more of the plaza? I mean, there's only enough to take out the building, but you think that the smoke and debris won't spread?"

She started walking toward the rotating doors in front. "I don't know. I honestly don't. I'm not a demolition expert." She paused and glanced at him. "You might want to contact Yukimi noh Daoimaru. She's a Rider... and definitely into this kind of stuff."

Without hearing what else Ulliver Linden had to say, she pushed her way through the rotating doors and jogged down the steps of Mithran United. The eerie lion statue stared at her as she made her way past it. Of course, statues didn't stare at particular people. She was just merely adding onto the tension she'd already built up.

"Cleon, do you remember what that Detective who brought in the donuts earlier looked like?"

He was maintaining order and calling out commands outside at the time. He stopped, handed over command to a dark skinned officer standing next to him and approached her so they could talk more privately. "Um, yeah. He had a hat like Fal's. It was brown though, not black. That whole dent through the middle of it like someone dropped a book on it. I would never forget one of those hats. You don't see them that much anymore."

"Yeah, enough about the hat. What about his face? Any distinctive features?"

He looked upwards, as if he could imagine a picture of the man in the bright blue sky. "The black hair was turning gray at the sideburns. Thin narrow nose, dark beady eyes set close together, thin eyebrows. He had pale skin, kind of clammy looking. Tan trench coat over a blue-against-white pinstriped shirt, burgundy tie, and black trousers."

She was impressed at how many details he was capable of memorizing from a couple of glances. But then again, his keen eyesight and observance skills were what made him an excellent marksman. He seemed pleased with himself as well, smiling weakly. "Is he a suspect?"

"Yeah. He is. Page me if you see him. I'm going to search the crowd." 

They stopped and directed their gazes to the street, where black vans marked with the DJPF symbol pulled up. The bomb squad jumped out of the opened doors and sprinted up the steps, body armor, shields, and all. They lugged their equipment with them even at the high pace. Keladry and Cleon stepped to the side so they were out of the way. Symric was at the doors of the bank. He and another man were taking down the rotating door so quick entry and exit could be accessed. If need be, they might have to run out of there before the bank collapsed around their heads. 

Keladry turned around, trying to find a clue. The plaza was shaped in a rectangle and on a hill of sorts. The top of the hill was leveled out, and there were three exits-- stone steps-- leading to the streets below. There was the bank. An insurance company lived next door. Next to that, a large post office. The plaza was for the most part, absent except for the merchant's and vendor's stands scattered outside a mini-mall opposite from the post office.

There were more exits from the high-rise plaza to the street from there. And a few more sparkling fountains. She wondered why the people of the plaza were so fond of them. One was enough.

"No."

She blinked. Perhaps she wasn't seeing that. The two other fountains in the plaza faced toward the street. The eagle faced the street, as did the horse and its rider. She spun on her heel and ran toward the lion fountain. 

"Kel! What are you doing?" Cleon shouted.

"Hold on!" she yelled right back. She leapt onto the edge of the fountain. There was no way she could jump from the edge to the center without landing in the water. She glanced down at her field uniform. Ah well. She was in the field after all. She hopped into the knee-deep water and began dragging her legs toward the lion statue.

Cleon and two other officers abandoned their post to join her, or at least stand on the edge. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Get back here!"

"You're crazy!"

She gritted her teeth. "No, I'm not!" She reached the center and used the lion's paw as a handhold to haul herself up. She climbed over the waterspout, trying not to get hit by the spray of water. Now Keladry was standing in front of the lion. She reached up into the mouth, feeling the detailed stone teeth biting through her Hyperion Bands.

Cleon stared with half-lidded, hopeless eyes. "She has lost her mind. No doubt about it."

Keladry felt around until her hand came in contact with a compact little cylinder. She closed her fingers about it and yanked her hand out of the lion's mouth to inspect. A wire attached to one end of the cylinder trailed behind from the statue mouth. The black cylinder about the size of a stun gun had a lens opposite the side with the wire. She glanced behind her at the bank.

"He's been watching the whole time."

She turned around carefully, so as not to slip and showed the hidden camera to the others.

"Well, fuck me. We're screwed, aren't we?" Cleon groaned.

She wrinkled her nose at his choice of words. "Yeah. He wouldn't be here somewhere in the crowd if he already had a front seat view because of this camera."

At the end of her sentence, Wolset came running out the door with Symric at his heels. The younger arrived first. "A helicopter was sent ten minutes ago! They'll be here any minute to take it east out of the city and toward the fields."

"Doesn't that hurt the ecosystem out there?" Keladry frowned. "You know, whatever animals out there in the fields?"

"It's likely to kill less over there than it is here!" Symric snapped. "Aren't many animals out in the fields anyway! It's their hibernation time, in the _woods!"_

Keladry waded into the water again and got out of the fountain. She brought the camera with her, pulling the wire after her and wrapping it around the cylinder. She tossed it to Symric, who was distrustful. 

"It's not another bomb, Sym. It's just a camera," Wolset spoke. "We have only so many pieces of evidence."

A loud humming sound was heard overhead. The wind started to pick up. Actually, Kel witnessed, the helicopter was preparing to touch down in a clear spot in the plaza. Some of the merchants' stands on the opposite side of the plaza blew over. Men and women cursed as they tried to hold onto their things without getting blown around themselves. 

Six men in a two-line formation walked out of the bank, surrounding the bomb that they carried on a stretcher of sorts with the utmost care. Keladry looked at her pager for the time. A few more minutes. How long would the helicopter take getting out of the city? Would the pilot be hurt?

The helicopter touched down, a blue and white hulk with sharp blades spinning overhead. The six members of the bomb squad involuntarily ducked their heads although the helicopter blades were a few feet above still. Three of the men got into the helicopter along with the bomb, which was still in its donut box. Keladry shivered, not only because of the air against her wet legs, but in genuine apprehension for the safety of those officers flying out.

Within a matter of seconds, the helicopter lifted off and flew at top speed east. Every man, woman, and child watched it become a dot in the sky. It eventually disappeared into the horizon. There was nothing left but to wait for the report in a few minutes time.

"Hey," she tapped Wolset and Symric on the shoulders. "Find out who funded the money to the bank for the lion fountain and which contractors built it. This thing has been planned long ahead."

"It's only been here for a few years," Symric answered. "I suppose that it could have been planned a year ago. I wonder why they were biding their time?"

Keladry rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Who knows? Look, I'm going to get a bite to eat. I'll be back in five minutes for whatever reports we have to make to Flyn." She frowned. "Where is he, anyway?"

"One of the other banks, I believe."

"Oh. Okay. I'll be right back."

Trying to shake off her tension, Keladry started humming to herself. She sauntered down the steps toward the streets below and crossed. The traffic had been reduced to nearly none since most of the civilians had the brains to get their cars away from any potential flying debris. Crowds of shoppers still lined the streets, going into one shop or cafe, then coming out another. 

A few strangers nodded kindly to her, noting her disheveled appearance.

"Ma'am?" a boy tugged on her sleeve. He was about thirteen, with a backward baseball cap on his head, a large T-shirt, and a pair of baggy cargo shorts. "The bank's not blowing up, is it?"

She blinked. Her face flushed when she realized other people around her were also waiting for the answer to the question. "No. It's not. We're all fine."

The boy grinned and ran away. She let out a deep breath and forced herself to keep walking. Little things like hardly ever happened to her. Those sorts of things always happened to Owen or Neal, never her. But the expression on the boy's voice made her smile. Things were alright. Mostly.

"Most of the money stolen still hasn't been recovered. The suspects are still on the loose, including the one whom just tried to blow up Mithran United." She groaned. "This is just not my day."

She stopped in her tracks and looked to her right. The café she was standing in front of appeared halfway decent. She liked pasta and pizza, and she didn't have to change out of her uniform to sit down on the sidewalk and eat. 

"_THIEF_!" a woman screamed. A man ran through the crowd on the sidewalk, his haggard face and greedy expression making him look like the stereotypical TV purse-snatcher. Keladry bolted up from the table she was sitting at and shoved her way through the crowd. 

__

I'm never going to get a rest! she thought as she gradually caught up with the man. He looked over his shoulder and spotted her. The thief took a sharp turn into an alley, hoping to jump the metal fence and lose her.

She nearly collided with an elderly couple trying to close the gap between him and her. 

"DJPF! Stop! Desist! I will shoot should you not do this!" Keladry shouted, irritation and annoyance obvious in her tone. 

The man reached the fence, He had trouble holding onto the purse and climbing. He finally held the small brown leather purse in between his teeth and began his climb. 

Keladry drew her gun and fired a shot not too far above his head.

"GAH!"

She had scared him. His hands lost their hold on the fence and he fell back onto the alley ground. Keladry reached him just as he got up. He drew a switchblade knife that gleamed even in shade. 

The experienced female officer darted forward and feigned a punch to the right, then spun around and did a roundhouse kick to the left. Her foot knocked the knife out of his hand. She speedily pounced on him, punching him in the stomach and delivering a swift jab to his face.

The man blindly punched back, striking out with inexperience. She evaded his sloppy attacks. Her following front kick knocked him onto his back. Before he could get back up, she pinned him with her legs and took the opportunity to punch him hard in the jaw once more.

Something inside her shattered. She began punching him over and over, never mind the blood on her gloves and the sound of pain escaping his split lips. 

"You.... son of... a bitch!" she punctuated each group of words with a strike. "I am not.. a fucking _First Class officer... _for nothing! I am..." Her voice cracked and she tried to hold in the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "NOT a person... who fails! I always... get my man... even if it means I have to hunt... you _down_... like a dog!"

She pulled back, out of breath and on the verge of sobbing. She stoically stood up, staring blankly at the man's blood covered face. Her hands shook. She quickly removed her gloves and put them in a pouch at her waist. 

__

Is he dead? she thought wildly. _Did I kill him in my state of temporary insanity?_ She watched his chest slowly rise and fall. _He's unconscious. By Glory, I'm glad._

"Lost it there, didn't you?"

She looked up, shocked to see Joren on the other side of the man's prone form. He stared at her with his icy blue eyes. His unfeeling expression haunted her. What was he doing her? Couldn't he see that she was working?

If she could call beating a man senseless work...

"No! I... I..." she sought out words that wouldn't come.

He snorted. "You're frustrated with yourself over the fact that all the suspects aren't tried and incarcerated and the money's still gone."

"That's not true! We saved the people in the plaza from getting hurt! We saved the bank from being blow up to Kingdom come!" she cried, clenching her hands into fists. "I'm fine!"

Joren nodded his head, considering her explanation. "Perhaps. You're the one lying to yourself. By imagining that I'm here talking to you, right now, you're trying to justify your reasons when you really can't. You're trying to make me into the asshole again to make you feel better."

__

He's right.

She knelt down to lift the man up. She wouldn't bother with handcuffs. He would be out for a while. Keladry looked up again. Joren was gone. It had been her imagination after all. What a sick and twisted conscience she had to turn itself into him.

"I'll figure it out some day," she muttered and dragged the man out of the alleyway with her. She stopped at the mouth of the alley and paged for some assistance in transporting him. A woman in her thirties with short brown hair ran up, breathing hard.

"My purse!" She screamed when she saw the thief's bloody face. "Is he dead?"

"No," Keladry answered, her voice sounding dull. She winced when she heard it herself. "Here's your purse." She handed it to the woman, who thanked her profusely and ran away in her feminine suit and skirt.

__

And to think, all I wanted half an hour ago was my lunch break.

~~~

That evening, Keladry sat on the rail of the elevated walkway. She could have easily jumped onto a branch from where she was sitting, but decided not to do so. The last thing she needed was for someone (most of all, Cleon or Neal) to see and start calling her Squirrel Girl. She was unchanged from her field uniform, while the rest of the residents of the DJPF owned apartment complex had changed out. They were now mostly sleeping-- those who were not doing late-night research and investigation for Flyn or Buri. 

Kel had even gotten around to eating, though everything tasted sour or bitter in her mouth after the incident in the alley. She'd barely held down the dinner she ate, and ended up washing it down with as much water as possible. Drinking water stopped her notions to vomit for some reason. 

She ran a hand through her hair and scratched her scalp. Her gloves were in her sink, soaking in a cleaner and disinfectant to get the blood out. The blue diamonds on the knuckles would never be as bright anymore, but that was alright. 

All of a sudden, hands pushed her forward. Keladry gasped she felt herself fall forward, arms flailing. The same hands that had pushed her grabbed her waist and held on, dragging her back onto the rail. Keladry, heart beating wildly, gripped the rail with both hands and turned around carefully to see to whom the hands at her waist belonged to.

"Stone?"

"Mindelan," he nodded to her. He let go and leaned on the rail beside her. "You see now how easily anyone could have pushed you? So stupid."

She returned her gaze to the glowing lights of Tusaine in the magnificent panoramic view their high ground apartments gave them. She emitted a sigh.

"Maybe I wanted to be pushed."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. "If that were so, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did. You would have let yourself drop through the branches below like a rock."

"Or a stone," she added, liking the significance of the pun. "Too bad this isn't the President's place and there aren't any Stormwings to fall on."

He glared at her. A long pause followed, until he finally spoke again. "Why are you out here anyway?"

"Why not? The cold doesn't bother me so much anymore," she said in an emotionless monotone that mimicked his voice. Joren considered something for a moment and then took off his jacket. He draped it over her shoulders, leaving him in his thin black T-shirt again. 

She broke her concentration on the lively sight of the city to regard him with suspicion. He folded his arms across his chest and picked up staring out at the city where she had left off. Kel didn't bother asking why he'd done it. He'd probably answer that if she caught a cold, she'd be out of commission for a bit and that wouldn't be good for the rest of her partners. Always thinking about himself.

"I tried finding out who funded the making of the lion fountain outside the bank. No such luck yet. I believe there's a connection, but Buri keeps saying that she'll have her people take care of it and I should just relax." Keladry gnawed on her lower lip. 

"It's not your jurisdiction. You should relax."

She sighed. "I can't just turn my back on it! It's just... I..." She scowled midway. "Not that I would expect you to understand or even care about what I'm going through."

"You're right, I wouldn't care. But I would definitely understand. I'm not inexperienced with stuff like that, Mindelan. You of all people should know by now."

"I know."

They remained on the walkway for a few more minutes. The lights of the city flickered and shined with their own magnificence. All of it could be wiped out, by a billion of bombs, by random attacks from the same men who'd robbed the banks. The mere thought chilled Keladry to the bone when the harsh wind could not. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. 

"I'm going out. If Qasim comes looking, tell him so, okay?" Joren said. He took back his jacket from her and started toward the nearest elevator. Keladry watched him until he reached the glass sliding door leading inside.

"Hey."

He shifted on his back heel to turn. "What now?"

Were there words for this kind of thing? She stumbled for the right sentences to say, but they all sounded awkward no matter how she phrased them. "Th-thanks for understanding... but not caring. Sympathy--"

"Sympathy wouldn't help much at this point," he finished for her. "Yeah. I know. That's why I never have any."

She nodded. "But the empathy is nice."

Joren snorted as the door slid open. "It's a curse."

After he'd left, Keladry started wondering if that whole scene meant that the avoiding each other phase of their strange cycle was over. She hadn't had to yell at him for being the asshole he normally was just yet, so the next phase hadn't occurred. 

"The in-between isn't so bad," she whispered.

~~~

Elsewhere.

Joren called out into the dark and abandoned subway station, hearing his voice echo off the walls. He paced in a line, back and forth. His booted heels were the only sound in the whole place, louder than his breathing-- for that he was glad. The single light he'd brought down with him was enough to illuminate half the platform, but it cast eerie shadows everywhere. Joren stopped pacing and listened to the sound of his own breathing. It helped to calm his mind and clear it.

"Just come out already. I know you're here, Enishi."

A pause. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Joren?"

The blonde officer turned around to face the silver-haired mystery. "Yes. It has."

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to seek me out. Though I've changed locations, I always come back here now and then to see if you have come back."

Joren sighed. "Look, let's not talk about that right now. I have something else I want to know."

"Oh? Ask away." His aquamarine eyes glowed like fireflies in the shadowed part of the subway platform. The graffiti on the supports behind Enishi were of bright crimson flames, complementing the shine of the strange eyes. On another day, Joren might have commented that he looked like a devil, but then he stopped. Devil eyes would be red.

Red for rage, for anger... for evil. Joren's hand absently went up to stroke the red lettering on the collar of his black jacket. 

Joren looked down at the ground, wondering for a brief second whether the stain next to his shoes was motor oil or blood. "You donated that fountain outside the bank, didn't you?"

Enishi laughed long and hard, a sort of chilling laughter that froze you to the spot. When his merriment subsided, he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye and answered. "Is that all? Come now, Joren, you know I donated that thing years ago."

"The camera was found today."

"I'm quite aware."

Joren glared at him as contemptuous as he dared to be. "Did you organize all those robberies and send the bomb?"

A shadow passed over the other man's voice, though he was now standing with Joren in the light of the lantern hung above. 

"No."

"No?"

"A large group of young fools have moved onto my turf, trying to oust me and outdo me. I had my camera set up, yes, to watch over the bank-- my investment, if you don't recall-- like I always have for years. This new group has so sloppily left their clues and celebrates now as we speak. Such children."

Joren frowned. "This isn't like you. You have the means to wipe them out. Why don't you?"

"Tsk, tsk. You don't know me that well anymore, do you?" He chuckled in his deep rich voice. "Yes, I can easily dispose of them. Why not, then? Number one, the mass murders would alert Buriram Tourakom, your former boss. I hate her snooping around in my affairs. It would take half a year to get the case filed in some never-accessed folder. Number two, I know you wouldn't approve. And now that you're back, I fully intend to be a more honest man."

"You expect me to believe that?" Joren wasn't sure whether or not to be sarcastic, or sincere in his response, but he didn't trust him. Not one bit. 

"No. Of course not! I'm not going to halt my operations because the prodigal one has returned home to the farm!" He laughed and started walking back into the inky darkness from which he'd arrived. "Know this, Joren. I will be there when you're ready." He paused and threw a glance over his shoulder. "And do keep the girl. Kel, was it? She's a nice dish if I ever saw one. Independent and deadly, kind and sympathetic. A bit of a perfectionist though. I can definitely see you curing her of _that!_"

Joren's eyes widened. "Her? No, I don't think so. Mindelan's a pain in the ass."

"You loaned her your jacket, didn't you? You never did that before."

"I was distracted at the time."

Enishi disappeared from view. "Whatever you say...._Jackal._"

~~

Author's Notes:

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! (I know, I know. I'm a bit late.)

Anyway, my vacation has been so busy. I'm surprised this took as long as it did. I was supposed to have fit in TWO episodes this vacation. Unfortunately, homework calls. Boys and girls, this is what you get when you procrastinate!

I hope you don't mind the depressing scenes in here. I've had a few sobering experiences this vacation, and thus, was put in the mood. I'm not about to make Wolset and Symric regular appearances. They were just kind of... _there _because I needed more variety in Flyn's officers. Maybe I'll change my mind later on. And as for Ulliver? I don't know. There's not much about him in the books. He's the commander of the Second Company of the King's Own. And that's all I knew. The Ulliver I recreated was decent enough, I hope.

Joren and Kel. Kel and Joren. Enishi spots Kel. Joren talks to Enishi. What in the world is going on here? Should I tell you? Nah. Not yet. I hope those of you whom are restless for some Joren and Kel action were pleased. For the time being, anyway. You know me. I like to develop their relationship. If you can actually call it a relationship. *rolls eyes*

Poor Neal! He's still hurting, the poor boy. Roald and Lalasa are going through tough times... and I managed to barely throw in everyone's favorite little gambler, Faleron, in this episode. This is what you get when you've been deprived of sleep and your daily amount of coffee, folks. The next episode is already planned out. Expect for me to neglect the same group of people again. Sorry, but it's only one episode. You'll live.

Until next time, remember to tell me what you think via reviews! 

-Sulia Serafine

email: Silverwlng@aol.com

(you can also talk with Legato Bluesummers, a partner of sorts at Pickadilly101@aol.com. Be careful. He bites.)


	7. A Letter To You

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 7: A Letter To You**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. Thanks!**

*** To answer Lady's question from last time, I was so busy that my colleagues and I have yet to revamp the site. It's all taken down now, and we're trying to find a better free host than Yahoo Geocities, if you get my meaning. If anyone can help by telling me of other great... FREE hosts, then by all means, please tell me! The pictures will most likely be up whenever I get the chance to work. Knowing high school, that may be long in coming. *sigh*

*** As for another person's question, a picture from the aforementioned site of the DJPF officers themselves has them wearing their Hyperion Bands. It would be nice to see them again, but remember: this is only a possibility given I have a chance to work. Thanks.

*** Hear ye! Hear ye! By popular demand, I'm still accepting people into the mailing list! That means I let you know when the episode is done, or I FINALLY get a part of my website up! Email me with the subject titled as ICBW Mailing list. If you want, I can put your additional email addresses in there, too. Never can be too sure, right?]

The next day, all the news shows on the halo-screen talked about was the incident at Mithran United. All the citizens of Tusaine and their mothers were talking madly about how close they were to death. Investigations were in full swing, and in-between people like Keladry were being bumped around from place to place while doing little odd jobs for the even higher-ups who were in reality, just as clueless as she was. She had to admit, it was better than doing grunt work like the Second and Third Classes. 

Once the helicopter had left, a final sweep of the bank had been made to assure the public of its safety. The mayor of Tusaine promptly ordered all new security systems for any institution servicing the whole city. This included all banks, post offices, and delivery services. Daine had come home that evening, muttering about the migraine she had at the office all day, helping the mayor with funding for such a decree. 

The helicopter had been able to drop the bomb in the middle of a deserted area with little-to-none wildlife and departed again before the timer reached zero. A bit of turbulence had been reported as the explosion's force rippled through the air in waves for miles around. Keladry didn't want to picture herself anywhere near an explosion that powerful.

The helicopter pilot and those of the bomb squad who had come along were all safe. The news crews ambushed them upon their return, drilling each of them for details. Channel 47 indeed got the full report before Flyndon did, which pissed the Chief off to no visible extent.

Keladry had found it in her best interests to avoid Flyndon, Raoul, and Buri all that morning. The three seemed ready to snap at anything or anyone close by. Chaos, chaos everywhere and not a single suspect in custody.

She glanced over her shoulder when she could hear someone belting out the chorus to a popular song on the radio. It turned out to be Neal's God-brother, Dom. She suspected that Raoul had already taken out his frustration on his Riders via lecture, yet Dom didn't appear like a man who'd currently let apprehended suspects slip through his fingers or like a man who'd been in a thrilling car chase either.

"Good morning!" Dom greeted, dragging out the first word as he waltzed up to her designated cubicle. 

Officers like her usually didn't have any office space at all at the station. They remained home until their duties were assigned. After a few weeks, Flyndon had decided to designate one cubicle for her to share with the other First Class officers that were left in the T District after the drafting for the Immortals Expedition. Hardly anyone ever showed up at the space, except to receive new orders or do boring paperwork.

Which was, in fact, exactly what Kel was doing. "Good morning," she said sleepily to the cheery upbeat Rider. She looked him up and down. "Oh, but I'm guessing you've had your coffee."

He nodded vigorously. "Should I get you a cup?"

"No, I'm fine," she said. "I've just got some things on my mind."

"Ah. I see." He glanced over her shoulder to look at the computer monitor. "Filing a report for an attempted robbery? But I thought you were working that bomb scene all yesterday."

Keladry thought briefly of the purse-snatcher's bloodied face and her own gloves fists pummeling the flesh. "Um, not _all _yesterday. I did manage to bag a guy who wasn't connected to the whole shebang."

Dom dared to lean farther over her shoulder to read the monitor. A picture window popped up on screen, displaying a mug shot taken of the injured man when he was finally conscious. "Whoa! The guy's beaten to a bloody pulp!"

Keladry bristled involuntarily, feeling shame edge its way into her frame of mind. "He _did _resist arrest!"

He grimaced melodramatically. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Dom, don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked, hoping he would leave. She was close to taking her frustration out on him, too.

"Not really, 'Killer'." His eyes lit up at a realization. "Hey! Killer... Kel-er... Kel..." He continued to find other embarrassing associations of her name until she elbowed him in the stomach. He nearly spilled his mug of coffee on her and set it down, rubbing his abdomen. She returned to her work while Dom stood by and acknowledged the people passing him and greeting him. 

Keladry was about to submit the report when her pager went off. The shrill beeping was very loud. She couldn't help but wonder how for the latter of her career, she was able to leave the volume muted... but now had it on full blast. She quickly pressed the enter button on the keyboard and lifted her wrist to eye level to read the message as well as turn the volume down. Dom, back to sipping his coffee, once again challenged her personal space by leaning over and reading the tiny pager screen.

A familiar grin graced his features. "Who is Liam?"

"Dom, I really think you have to be somewhere else right now," Keladry said through gritted teeth. 

He froze for a whole five seconds, weighing his options while considering her tone of voice, before slowly straightening up and taking a few steps back. He sipped his coffee again. "Oh drat. I promised to show Qasim this new... computer program." He began to nod his head. "Yup. A whole new... thing. It does... cool stuff. Uh, so, I should go. As in, now. Meaning, I'll just mosey on up--"

"Dom."

"Right. Bye." He smiled apologetically and trotted away at a slightly fast pace. Keladry rolled her eyes. Too bad Neal and Dom weren't related by blood. It would explain a lot about their sometime similar behavior. _Except Neal doesn't drink coffee, and he hates computers. He'd much rather be chasing after women rather than do Dom's line of work. _She returned her attention to the message on her pager.

_Liam, the man from the pool hall? This ought to be interesting. _She swiveled around in her chair and faced a Communications-Screen, which she was nervous about activating. She pressed a red button that prepared the machine for a transmission, and then thought the better of it. She switched the visual camera off so that he could only hear her voice, whether he had a COM-screen or not. 

The phone rang two times before someone answered. It was her one-time acquaintance.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Liam? It's Kel."

"Oh, hello, Miss Kel!" 

"Just 'Kel' is fine," she replied, a laughing lilt in her voice to calm her nerves. His suave voice did nothing but triple her anxiety. "You wanted to talk or something? You paged me."

"Yes, that. I was hoping that you perhaps would consent to have lunch with me. That is, if you don't have any other plans..." he trailed off hopefully. 

"Uh..." Keladry mentally ran through her schedule for the next couple of hours. Lunch was clear, unless her friends planned on springing a free lunch on her at the last second. Maybe it was a wise idea to be free for lunch that day. Flyn or Buri might come looking for her to do some work. That was definitely important. 

After all, who else in the building would gladly pass up a meal for an exciting romp through downtown Tusaine on some dangerous job? Well, besides Raoul anyway.

"I'm not sure, Liam." _Hey, there is a _very_ good chance I might be called to work!_

He made a clucking sound with his tongue. "Uncertainty doesn't become you. Try again..."

_Boy, is he persistent. _She reddened at his response. She scattered a few plastic sheets of printed information on the desk so it sounded like she was looking through lots of papers. Sounding busy was half the battle. "You know, I think I can meet you for lunch after all."

He laughed over the transmission. She wondered if he knew she was faking it. "Superb. There's this quaint place on Breezeway Boulevard. We'll eat some excellent salad and baklava."

"Appetizer then dessert?"

"I'm an unconventional man, if you must know. The main course can magically appear later, if you like. I also do kiddy shows. You know, pull rabbits out of hats and the like." His voice was smooth with a sense of purpose. Maybe he did voice-overs in commercials. That would account for it. Maybe he was a relative of Faleron's. The two men always sounded like they could talk a vegetarian into eating a steak.

_He has a subtle sense of humor to go with the elegant charm. I bet he's a heartbreaker. He dressed the other night like he was escaping some high-rise office building. That ought to mean something. Maybe he works in a law firm. Lawyers are good. Very good. What the heck? Why not?_

"Sounds like lunch."

"I'll see you at noon then. Bye." _Click. _

Keladry tapped the button on the corner of the screen and began reorganizing the sheets of plastic that she'd moved around. She let out a deep breath and cleared her throat. _That wasn't so bad. It's simply lunch with someone I hardly now. At least it's in public. _She paused. _That might be bad. What if someone sees me?_

She shook her head and reprimanded herself. _Who cares? Whoever sees me will know that I actually have a life now! I'm not the anti-social workaholic of old! That... that _girl_ in Tortall who went to the Academy? That _girl_ who had to get bribed by Neal and Owen to go have fun with them? _She_ doesn't exist. Nobody cares that _she's_ gone. They like the Kel that they see now. And it's _staying_ that way._

The next ten minutes were spent trying to look as occupied and busy as possible, so that her behavior didn't betray any abnormality. It was just another day in the life of Keladry Mindelan, workaholic and striving perfectionist extraordinaire. 

_~~_

Cleon yawned and stretched his arms over his head. On the screen facing him, Faleron wrinkled his nose in disapproval of the view he was getting of the redhead's tonsils.

"I'm bored out of my mind. Everybody's busy or not answering their pagers. Where do you want to eat lunch, man?"

His best friend winced. "Sorry, chap. Fianola already asked me if she could take me out to lunch at some Greek place she found on Breezeway."

"Oh?" Cleon started, interested perked. "Shouldn't you be the one taking her out to lunch? Not the other way?"

"Hey! I don't want to go, but I don't have anything else scheduled ahead and it would be rude to refuse. My teachers always taught me that." An obvious blush was blazing across the shorter man's cheeks. "She really isn't my type. You know that."

"Dude, since I know that there is not a great abundance of chicks who dig pinstriped shirts, poker, and professional ex-thieves with a lack of height, I say you don't _have _a type." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him. "Have your fun. Just don't forget to tell me the details."

Despite the implied lasciviousness, Faleron seemed to calm down and straighten up. "I never knew you to be one so eager for gossip."

"Ah, but you do." He chuckled, which quickly ended in groaning.

"What now?"

"If you're not free for lunch, then there's no one left to hang out with!" 

Faleron started drumming his fingers on his desk. "You can always visit Neal. He's much better now, so I heard from Roald."

"Roald's been to see him?"

"Babysitting the guy, himself, yesterday. Dom had to work if you'd forgotten already and he didn't want to leave his little God-brother all by his lonesome self."

That made sense. Cleon could just imagine all the indignation that the older officer was receiving by being confined to his apartment to get so much unnecessary rest. At least he got waited on by one of his friends. Roald doing his dishes, serving him his meals, wheeling him around in that wheelchair...The doctor still had over-cautious orders to keep him confined to the wheelchair until that very night when the doctor would come in and check the healing limbs. Being ejected from a vehicle at over 50 miles per hour did that to a person.

Oh, to have a nurse. Albeit, Cleon considered, it would have been better if one of his lady friends had played nurse to him. Maybe Lalasa or Yuki checking Neal's temperature while wearing a cute nurse outfit with the short skirt, the stockings, and the white pumps... Giving Neal a sponge bath. Letting Neal sponge-bathe _them_. It sounded as corny as those pointless adult videos in the shadowed section of a movie rental store, but it was always possible in _Cleon's _imagination.

"What in the world are you grinning like that for?" Faleron regarded him suspiciously.

"Er, nothing. So I guess I'll see Neal for lunch." He muttered under his breath, "That lucky bastard."

"Excuse me?'

Cleon smiled. "Nothing."

~~

Roald did his best to stay awake at the desk. On that particular day, Daine had no choice but to work at her office downtown, and thus, her assistants followed. Faleron had just gotten off the COM-screen with Cleon, he supposed. There were very few people that Faleron associated himself with on his own free will. If the poker-player made calls, they were either to Kel or Cleon. That was that. Elsewhere, he could see Daine talking to a few representatives from the city about some new amendment to the law that she'd had her hand in. 

He ought to know what that law was. After all, politics was in his blood. He should have been keeping tabs on recent events. But the point was, he didn't want to and he'd much rather do little menial tasks for his wonderful employer or study the self-instructional book on native Sarainian language that he'd picked up on a whim the other day. Life was pleasant, and there was no need to plan ahead.

"Hi."

He looked up to see his girlfriend standing awkwardly with her hands behind her back. She rocked frontward and backward on the balls of her feet, unable to keep still. Roald paused, wondering if they were still on speaking terms. He decided that he wanted a peaceful morning without arguing, so the best thing was to remain civil. "_Bon vestera_."

"Huh?"

"Sarainian for 'good morning'," he explained, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He clapped the book shut and set it down on the desk.

She smiled briefly. "Oh." She coughed. "Strange how foreign languages always sound nicer than our own. I bet Sarainians think that Common English is a more beautiful sounding language compared to theirs."

He nodded. "I seem to have a knack for other languages. Maybe I could make money off of it. You know, work for Ms. Sarrasri and be a translator." He hoped his sarcasm would bring about some effect from her. This meek and humble Lalasa he saw before him just didn't seem right. "You know?"

Lalasa looked like she'd been slapped. She lowered her gaze to the floor, too embarrassed to say anything. Roald felt horrible. If he'd known that he'd get a response that guilty, he wouldn't have said it. 

"So, what's up? How are you?"

_What a dull conversation _this_ is turning out to be. I shouldn't have to ask my own girlfriend how she is. I should be able to tell just exactly how she is. The fact that I'm reduced to asking this stupid question makes me wonder if we're going to split up._

"I've been evaluating the last couple of days, Roald, and I know we can settle this without splitting up."

Surprised that she had practically read his mind, Roald coughed and stood up so they could be eye to eye. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he placed them in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders as he sighed. "Well! Um, you want to go somewhere more private to talk about this? I think we've been lectured by Daine about personal matters in public."

Lalasa agreed, not skipping a beat. "Yes, yes. Let's do that."

They picked up their coats and informed one of the lesser secretaries that they were going outside for a breath of fresh air. The male secretary, a skinny man with no respect for anyone, just rolled his eyes. He resumed his conversation with another man on COM-screen without giving them any further attention.

As soon as the door from the main entrance closed behind them, Lalasa began talking.

"I'm sorry for everything, Roald. It's okay if you want to stick with the life we have now. I'd totally understand if you never wanted to bring up the subject ever again."

_What in the world brought on this whole entire bout of guilt? She was yelling her head off at me merely yesterday._

They selected a random direction and began walking, mindful of other pedestrians and vehicles. Roald chose to remain silent while the Carthakian woman poured out her innermost thoughts.

"It shouldn't matter. We have a roof over our heads; we have stable jobs. We make enough to put aside money for retirement." She sighed. "I'm just so used to being free from all this stuff. You know, because I spent all my life going back and forth from my father, to Uncle Thom, to any one of his associates whom I was entrusted to... When I see how your past is compared to mine, I just feel like I've cut your potential in half by holding you to the life we lead now."

They had come to the riverside boardwalks. Roald led her to a bench and sat down, patting the space beside him. She scurried over and seated herself quickly, smiling as brightly as possible at him. It was a pained effort, he could tell. 

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he put a finger to his lips and motioned to the commotion in front of them. The usual crowd of shoppers and walkers milled about the boardwalk. There were acrobats and jugglers with their hats open to catch Nobles and Coppers. The occasional cyclist sped by, expertly weaving through the loose throng of people. A man selling popcorn yelled over the dull roar of people.

"Roald..."

"Shh. Look at this. The merchants and performers here probably make less money than we do, seeing as we're Council employed. But they're happy." He turned to her, meeting her confused eyes with his enlightened ones. "All I want to be is happy where I am. No big future. The bigger you are, the harder you fall, anyway. That's what they always say, isn't it?"

She nodded slowly. "I guess so."

"Good. So, no more talk about what we're going to do for the rest of our lives?"

"For the rest of our lives? You think _we_--"

"We won't discuss that just yet," he cut her off before crystalline images of diamond rings and gold wedding bands started coursing through her brain. His wallet certainly didn't appreciate the idea.

Though his jittery outlook on the future silenced her, Lalasa smiled genuinely and laid her head down on his shoulder. He responded by wrapping an arm around her. They stayed in those positions for a few minutes, glad that the whole dilemma was over. Roald glanced at her curiously.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"What made you so remorseful this morning?"

She blushed, but turned her face so he couldn't see. "Well, you see, there was this talk show on the holo-screen and all the guests were couples. They were like us, and they were arguing that the other was dragging them down. It was horrible. The security guards had to restrain them."

"Ouch. I'm glad we didn't get that far."

Lalasa sat up. "Why don't we go to Breezeway for lunch? They have some nice places there for us to eat at."

"Sure. Lead the way."

~~~

Conflicting thoughts and concerns dueled within Keladry's head for nearly ten minutes. She sat on the metal bench in the locker room of the DJPF station, wondering what she should actually wear to the 'lunch date'. She could show up in her casual uniform if she wanted to intimidate him, a little voice in her said sarcastically. Not that she _wanted _to. She sighed and settled for a pair of khaki pants and a nice button down light blue shirt. 

"Breezeway Boulevard. Where is that?" she asked the empty air, though she knew she would receive no answer. 

It didn't matter. The navigator in her car could do all the work. Keladry calmed her slowly mounting fears as best she could as she finally put most of belongings back into the tall and narrow metal locker. She picked up her jacket and kicked the locker door shut behind her. The electronic lock beeped as it barred the locker again. It was strange how she focused on mere details going around her to avoid the big nerve-racking picture. 

She had a date.

Well, it wasn't a trip to the movies. It wasn't dinner. It wasn't... her riding in his car, where he would inevitably walk her to her doorstep and kiss her. This was lunch. And it was so impossibly adult and non-confrontational of their non-existent relationship that she was frustrated for feeling anything but relaxed.

_Acquaintance_, her mind screamed. _Acquaintance!_

"It is just lunch."

A woman looked up as she walked past. Keladry chastised herself for voicing her thoughts and proceeded down the long hall to the elevator. She saw Dom talking to a woman at the front desk when she reached the bottom floor. He flashed her a knowing grin and waved. She turned away, embarrassed. 

She didn't drive the squad car to Breezeway Boulevard. It would be obvious to him that she was an officer. And she wouldn't go on her motorcycle. That was still at the garage at home. She'd still have to get into a taxi from the station to her apartment building. Liam didn't need to know such things about yet. She caught a taxi and spent her short time there in the backseat, wringing her hands. 

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked as he started the meter and pulled away from the curb.

"Breezeway Boulevard." She stopped there when she couldn't think of the restaurant's name. "Some Greek place. I forget."

"Oh, you mean the Alpheus."

_The Alpheus. It sounds very classical. _She looked down at herself and wondered if she was underdressed. If Lalasa were present, the Carthakian woman would be so pleased to hear Keladry finally acting like a normal young woman. The very idea made Keladry sick. She didn't want to be worried about these things. She was worried enough as it was with her job. 

A few more minutes later, she stepped outside of the taxi and paid the driver.

"Hope you like the food. I heard it's the best!" he called to her before driving off, back into the flow of ground vehicle traffic. A hover car nearby honked at the swerve the taxi driver almost made into the hover lanes. Kel shook her head and walked toward the door. 

There were artificial vines wrapped around two marble columns just inside the door. She looked up at the little plaster statues of ancient gods and marveled at the artistry. Light flooded the room due to the high skylights from above. There was a stairway leading to a higher level where people could dine and look down on other people as well. 

The place seemed crowded during lunchtime, full of businessmen and women eating and laughing. There were even some normal people inside, wearing jeans and sneakers. Keladry felt instantly better. She was glad that Liam had made the choice.

Where was he anyway?

She glanced about her. She walked up to a velvet rope, where a woman was standing behind a tiny podium. The woman stopped doodling on a notebook and looked up. She was dressed in a white dress with some Greek toga-like influences. 

"Yes, may I help you?"

"I'm looking for a friend. We're supposed to meet here."

"Name please?"

"Keladry M--" she stopped when she realized that she never told Liam her last name.

The woman gasped. "Oh, right this way! Mr. Irons has been waiting for you at his usual table."

_Mr. Irons? Liam Irons, huh? He has a usual table. So he comes here often. So... the people know him here. He can't be a creepy psychopathic killer or anything. He's a regular in a popular Greek restaurant. How normal is that? Well, not the Greek part anyway. He's a regular in a clean-cut establishment. _

Keladry followed the woman around tables and people. They went deep into the restaurant, towards the corner. The second level above their heads just barely wound around so they got a bit of the noon sunshine from the skylights.

She inadvertently held her breath when she saw Liam. He wore a white dress shirt and a loosened blue tie about his neck, just as he had when she had met him in the pool hall. His gray suit jacket was draped on his chair. He immediately stood to greet her. 

The other woman who had led Keladry there backed away, bowing her head to Liam, who acknowledged her for a brief second with a nod of his head. He took Keladry's hand and kissed it, just as he had two nights before. Such a gentleman like him would make normal women swoon. It, despite her efforts to be calm and levelheaded, nevertheless charmed her.

"We meet again," he said in an ambiguous tone and held out her chair for her. 

"It's nice to see you," Keladry returned lamely. She seated herself and scooted the chair in. He likewise sat. She tried to shake off her jitters and relax. Liam didn't make it easy. His gaze bore into her like a drill.

"I hope you didn't mind the last minute invitation to lunch. I was thinking about you and how we had such a good time the other night. I usually don't babble about sports." His speech was so crisp and elegant, even when he wasn't trying. Oh, but Faleron would be jealous. 

She shrugged nervously. "Neither do I. But it was fun. I mean-- I had fun."

"As did I."

She glanced around. "So, you come here often? That woman said this was your usual table."

He nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I'm fond of the food and the setting. My colleagues and I usually come here for lunch."

Keladry leaned forward on her elbows. "What do you do, anyhow?" She noticed her arms and removed her elbows from the table quickly. Etiquette was never much her strongpoint, compared to martial arts. She laid her hands in her lap. "You must be very successful. You certainly act the part. Er, I didn't mean it negatively."

"Of course not," he chuckled. He sipped water from a flawlessly clean glass. "I... am a trader of sorts. Distribution and redistribution of... _various _things. I even collect on debts, like the IRS, sometimes." He shook his head. "It's a boring job, but it pays the bills and the bonds between coworkers are the best I'd ever hope for."

"Lots of friends, hmm?"

He laughed. "Yes. Lots. We'd... _kill_ for one another, you might say."

She forced a laugh. It was a strange joke to make, but he obviously thought it was amusing. A waiter came by, greeting Liam with a familiar attitude. Her lunch date ordered for the both of them. Indeed, as he had teased on the phone, he ordered only appetizers and dessert. 

"We can eat a full main course in some other place than this, on another day. But not now. Never now," he said to her after the waiter had left. She wondered at his confusing words, but she shook it off. He played the mysterious and charming stranger well, though some of his qualities merely confused her.

She didn't know why she couldn't relax. He was being so casual in front of her. They were talking about things. There wasn't any silence, words flowed naturally, and she hadn't made a fool of herself yet.

"So what do you do?" he asked. "I like you as the mysterious beauty, but it gets better when we're familiar."

Keladry froze. Should she tell him? One thing led to another. If he really was a psychopath, he could look up her apartment and try to kill her in her sleep. But she lived among other officers, so maybe he wouldn't. The thought seemed ridiculous anyhow. She was First Class. She could take any stalker on and make them wish that they'd never been born.

_Tell him. Why not? He just told me about his job. You're such a wimp, Keladry._

"I'm a DJPF Officer."

Liam's eyes widened. "Really? What, second class?"

She blushed. "Uh, first."

"I would never have believed that I had the luck to get a young and beautiful First Class Officer of the DJPF to go to lunch with me!" he exclaimed. "Well! If I weren't honored enough already! Say, were you at Mithran yesterday?"

Keladry stiffened. "Unfortunately." She noticed his frown. "Not that I didn't want to work. It's just very... unfortunate that things like that happen so that people like me must be there." She paused. "I'd rather be a useless officer in a world of peace than a famous one in a world of anarchy."

"Well spoken."

"Thanks."

He tapped his finger on his chin. "And also- unfortunately- the world will always be filled with some chaos. If there weren't the Bad, we'd all go soft. One day, something bad would happen and we'd be running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Wouldn't you agree?"

She blinked rapidly after hearing his simile, but nodded despite the vivid picture painted in her mind. "Yeah. I see what you mean."

~~

Faleron looked around skeptically as he entered between the Greek columns and vines. He very much would have liked to talk his way out of coming there. There was no doubt in his mind that his powers of persuasion could have dissuaded Fianola from picking that restaurant, but he saw how her face lit up when she talked about it. 

_She's a sweet girl. Everyone likes her. But... but I'd better let her down softly. She's just not-- She doesn't _deserve _someone like me. It was a mistake to have spent time with her. I misled her into thinking that we might... be more than just friends._

"Hey, Hat Boy. Hats off! You know better than that!" the youngest Rider giggled and snatched his hat from his head. He smiled at her fondly and let her lead the way inside. 

The Alpheus was an impressive restaurant. Faleron now felt sorry that he'd misjudged the place before he'd taken more than a step inside. The food was the clincher. If his meal was tasty, he might consider coming here again. Whether or not he would come again with Fianola was indefinite, but he would not dwell on the thought just yet.

"Why don't we go upstairs? We can watch everyone from up there." Fianola grabbed his hand and pulled him along after her up the stairs, which were also lined with Greek vine covered columns. The grapes almost looked real enough to pluck off and eat. He was tempted to do so, but decided better on it. 

They were able to secure a table in the back of the restaurant. It still received a lot of sunlight and fresh air. But it overlooked very few tables now that it was toward the back. They could, however, see the kitchen door, so they would know when their food was on its way. 

Faleron moved to hold out his date's chair, but she simply took the other chair and sat. Faleron shrugged and sat down in the chair meant for her. He took his hat from her and brushed it off. "So what's good to eat here, Fia?"

She picked up a menu from between the salt and peppershakers already set on the table. "You like seafood? Or maybe a big deli style sandwich?"

"I thought you said this place was Greek."

"It is. They just have some other additional foods, too."

"Oh."

He stifled a yawn and looked over the rail at the people below. _It looks like this is a popular spot for desk and cubicle people to go on their lunch break. Good for them. _He nearly grimaced when he realized that he was now a member of that crowd. 

A familiar head of light brown hair and baby blue clothing caught his eye. He leaned out a bit further. Then he pulled back when his forehead met the rail. Was that who he thought he saw? It was! Keladry Mindelan, his good friend and upholder of the law, was seated across from a man that he had never seen before.

They seemed to be chatting about something they both shared an interest in. Both of them were smiling. Faleron frowned and shook his head. Keladry didn't grace people with her presence unless they were members of her tight knit circle of friends. The first few times the Riders had dragged her into their social gatherings, Keladry had been terribly nervous. So how could she attend an informal lunch with a man that he had never met?

"'What a change is here', " he quoted under his breath.

"Huh?"

Faleron looked back up and met Fianola's eyes. "Nothing."

They ordered their food. While waiting, Fianola talked about random things while Faleron listened and commented every now and then to assure her of his attention. He knew he had to get around to snuffing out Fianola's quest for his consent of a relationship, but he was guiltily more intrigued by Keladry's date down below. His gaze fell over the rail every few minutes. When he finally saw Keladry stand and head toward the Ladies Room, he also stood. 

"Um, I must go to the restroom. If the food arrives, go ahead and start eating. I'll be back soon."

Before she could reply, he headed toward the stairs and quickly descended. If there had been a smooth rail, he would have slid down. It would no doubt be fun, but the chance of hitting someone when he reached the bottom of the stairs was too risky. 

Faleron nonchalantly stood behind a randomly placed column, hiding himself from Keladry as she walked past. He glanced at his watch and yawned, pretending to be waiting for someone. When he saw her travel out of range, he headed toward her table. 

A sensible voice inside him told him to mind his own business. But he'd already evaluated all his actions and consequences within a split second, as he was prone to do when under pressure. He really wanted to meet and talk to this man. This man was different, whoever he was.

His pace slowed as he came within fifteen feet of the man. He commanded his heartbeat to likewise calm down so he could be as professional and emotionless as possible.

"Good afternoon, Sir," he greeted Liam.

Liam narrowed his eyes. He sipped from his glass. "Do I know you?"

Faleron seated himself without invitation. If the other man was annoyed, he did not show it. He merely sipped again. "No, but you do know my friend, Keladry Mindelan."

Liam laughed mildly. "Ah. Another _stone _or pebble in my shoe, are you?"

"And what do you mean by that, Sir?"

"Oh, nothing, _good Sir. _I merely make reference to the fact that this is the second time that my good intentions have been doubted on behalf of Miss Kel's welfare."

Faleron folded his arms. The attitude and presence with which this man spoke was too like his own manipulative style that he was honestly starting to feel a bit of fear. The former thief steeled his heart and sharpened his wits. He would not let this man see that it had gotten to him.

"May I ask your name, Sir?"

"Liam Irons. And you?" The edge of his mouth curled into a smirk. "Or shall I ask Kel?"

"Totally unnecessary, my good man. You may call me Faleron."

"Faleron?" His eyebrows rose slightly. A new shine glowed in his dark eyes. "I... I knew a man by the name of Faleron. Acted like he wore a crown sometimes."

The former thief's blood ran cold. He used all his will to keep his body from shuddering and thus betraying his uneasiness. "Did you?"

"A most polite _chap_. I do believe the three of us would have gotten along very well."

_No one manipulates me in my own conversations. I've done this longer than I can remember._

Faleron shrugged. "If it comforts you to think so, I would let you think that, Mr. Irons. Did you always live in Tusaine?"

"No."

"Uh-huh," he nodded.

"But neither did you."

Faleron could hardly believe it. He knew right away that something was terribly amiss. He didn't know what it was, but it was wrong. It felt so wrong. He hated to think that he might just be like Joren, suspicious for no good reason. But by his stars, Faleron could not extricate himself from the scrutiny that Liam was placing him under. It was supposed to be the other way around. And yet...

"Enjoy your meal." There was nothing else he could say. Liam already knew that he'd caught Faleron. He'd caught him like no one had caught Faleron in a very long time. The shorter man stood and brushed off invisible crumbs from his shirt. The two men engaged in a staring contest as a means of parting. Faleron could not recall at that moment having ever faced a man with such an impenetrable mask, save for Joren. Except... Joren faced people but always used his crudeness to shield his hidden wounds. So without practice, Faleron did not know how to read Liam. 

_This has never happened to me before. What does it mean?_

~~

"I thought you said we weren't going anywhere fancy," Roald protested.

"This place isn't fancy. We can walk in, no reservations needed. It's a place where people eat lunch and spend the afternoon talking. What, do you _want _to go somewhere fancy?" she asked. "Because you know, I can just as easily drop by a boutique and buy a dress for a nice formal restaurant and have lunch right now."

Roald shook his head. "No, no. This is fine. I was expecting something a bit more... cheap."

"Oh please. You never buy anything. You have plenty of spending money."

He snorted. "I do too buy things. I just don't shop as much as you do."

She turned to him and leaned in close. "Oh? And what do you buy?"

He grinned. "I was considering buying something for you, but since you claim that I don't buy things, I suppose I don't have anything at all for you."

"You're such a tease," she giggled and looped her arm with his. It was especially funny since she knew that Roald was anything but a tease. "Come on. I think I see an empty table in back."

She, like Fianola had earlier, dragged the object of her affection through the busy room and to a table near the back. It was freshly cleaned off because she could still smell the disinfectant spray. She sat down and immediately picked up the menu.

"If there are any weird things on this menu, we'll just have to try them out. I was always up for a culinary adventure."

Roald frowned. "Um... if you say so." _But I don't think my taste buds will like adventure as much as yours._

She started humming a song, bright and cheerful. Roald was so glad they'd had that talk earlier. Lalasa was visibly starting to act like her old self again. And he was starting to take the more passive and submissive nature again. Sure it wasn't always great letting her choose everything, but making decisions was one of the things that drove him away from his parents' idea of a future. 

He looked past his girlfriend and spied a familiar man. Roald could have sworn he'd seen him somewhere before. Perhaps he'd seen him in the pool hall. Yes! The pool hall. Chocolate brown hair that fuzzed in the front if he didn't smooth it back with something... constantly confident eyes that switched from green to hazel in different lights... slightly tanned skin and a little scar on the left of his jaw. The man's posture was perfect. He carried himself like a man worthier than all the gold in the country. But he also carried himself like one who would grovel at the feet of another given the opportunity to climb hierarchies.

Roald had seen such men work for his father, or others in the Federation and Council. He didn't like those types of people. They weren't to be trusted.

"Roald! Are you paying attention?"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry. What were you saying?"

Lalasa glared at him. "I was asking you what you wanted to eat."

Roald glanced at the menu distractedly. "You wanted the uh... culi-whatever adventure. Why don't order for the both of us."

She shrugged. "Okay. You asked for it."

He knew his stomach would be regretting this later, but at that moment he didn't care. While Lalasa was peering at the menu, Keladry walked by. She seated herself across the man whom Roald did not know.

"Darling..."

"Yes?" Lalasa answered without looking up.

"Um, did Keladry tell you about any new friends she made?"

This time, the Carthakian woman did look up. "No. I have no idea of what you're talking about." She followed his gaze. "Oooohhh! That is so cute! She has a date!"

"'Lasa, don't look! She'll see us," he whispered urgently. She rolled her eyes and turned back around in her seat.

"Well, maybe we should go then. We'll want to give the two their privacy."

Roald's mind scrambled for a reason to stay. "But I was looking forward to what you were going to order for me."

"Really?"

"Yes," he lied. _I was actually looking forward to seeing this man over here give me a legitimate reason to hate him. I'm acting paranoid, but this man gives me such a bad feeling!_

Lalasa, completely clueless still, agreed to staying and ordered food for the both of them. Above head, they heard a familiar voice cry out. 

"Bleh! You mean to tell me that these are really made of--- mmmmpphhh!"

The couple exchanged confused glances.

"You know, that sounded a bit like Faleron."

She nodded. "But I've never known him to have an outburst like that."

"Mmmmpppph!"

They looked up. They couldn't see anyone past the rail, but they knew there was a man up there with someone else's hand clamped over his mouth. Roald had to make a decision. He could leave Kel and her date alone, or he could find out whom this man was and appease his worried mind.

_Keladry's a big girl. She can take care of herself._

_Well..._

_Um..._

_Nah. If Neal were here, he'd be butting in. I mean, Kel _never _goes on dates. It's like the planets all aligning or something. It's like something that happens once every ten thousand years. This could be an omen. The world might be coming to an end._

Roald blinked.

_Okay, I have been spending way too much time with Cleon._

"Hon, I'm going to the Men's Room. Go ahead and order the food, would you?"

"Sure."

He got up and walked swiftly away in the direction of the restrooms. Luckily, that was also the same direction as the stairs. Roald glanced over his shoulder one last time at his girlfriend and went up the stairs. He kept his eyes open and alert for a familiar face. 

He spotted Faleron's hat on a table. Then he saw Fianola eating her meal at the same table. There was no Faleron to be found. He did not know the Rider well enough to talk to her. He'd planned on consulting with the former thief, who was simply nowhere to be found.

Defeated, he went back downstairs and entered the Men's Room. 

"Ugh..." he could hear a familiar voice groan from the first stall to his left. A toilet flushed and out came Faleron, rubbing his mouth. The shorter man looked a bit clammier than usual.

"Faleron?"

"Huh? Oh, Roald. What are you doing here?"

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm having lunch with Lalasa. You're here with Fianola, right? I saw her outside."

Faleron walked over to a sink and proceeded to rinse out his mouth. "I suppose you could say that. I'm trying to-" He stopped. "Never mind." He splashed his face with water and braced both arms on either side of the sink. "I shouldn't have eaten that."

Roald grimaced. _I hope Lalasa doesn't order whatever he had. _

"Hey, um... I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Kel's here with-"

"A guy that we've never seen before? I know. I talked to him while Kel was in the restroom."

"Oh, you did? Well?"

Faleron walked two sinks down toward Roald and activated the hand dryer. He reached forward and twisted the nozzle so the air blew straight up to his face. Roald stood back, since the air was ruffling his neatly combed hair. 

"Fal?"

"Oh, sorry." He stepped back and started talking louder over the noise of the hand dryer. "The guy is nearly one hundred percent creepy. I wasn't able to read him."

"Read him?"

"Yes! I read people, okay?" he snapped. "Sorry. It's just that it's been a while since I couldn't read somebody. You have to be able to read somebody to be the Poker King of the World."

Roald looked around impatiently. "Well, what do you think we should do about this guy? I remember him from the pool hall. He was sitting at the bar watching the baseball game with Kel."

Faleron blinked. "Oh, so that's where they met, hmm? It's not the greatest place to pick up a guy, but Kel isn't a conventional person, is she?"

"She doesn't pick up guys, period. You know that."

"Yes, I do."

"So what do _we _do?"

Faleron rubbed his chin. The hand dryer turned off automatically. He began to speak at normal volume. "We'll go back to our tables and spy on them. I have a view from above."

"And I have table near them, slightly blocked by a column."

"Can you hear them?"

Roald shrugged. "Probably."

"Alright, alright. We can work with this. I'll come back downstairs in a few minutes. I'll tell Fia that I still feel a bit sick. You pretend to get sick and meet me at the bottom of the stairs, got it?"

"So I have to eavesdrop," his partner in crime clarified.

"More or less. Roald, we have to do this. We know that there's something wrong with this guy. Sometimes all it takes is instinct! Keladry is our friend and we'll be damned if we let anything happen to her while she trusts this guy." He rested one hand on the other man's shoulder. "I wouldn't underestimate this man. He knows things."

The Vice President's son frowned. "What sorts of things?"

The other swallowed, feeling his dry throat uncomfortably balk by the action. "I think he knows who I am."

"Well, of course. You just went up to him. He probably recognizes you from the pool hall."

Faleron put his other hand on Roald's other shoulder and shook him in a bout of frustration. "No! Not that! I'm talking about Faleron King, leader of the Street Pirates in _Rogue's Bay_!" He growled. "I told him my first name. Then, he made this damned hint with a… crown… like my last name, King. You see? He knows who the hell I am!"

Roald removed his friend's hands from his body and glanced over his shoulder again. "Calm down, would you? Someone will hear!" He paused. "I never knew you had a gang. I just knew you were a thief and that they arrested you in Rogue's Bay."

"Yeah, well, now you know. I have no idea where my buddies went after I was caught saving Morrison's and the rest of their hides, but... it doesn't matter! That bastard out there knows about me. He can tell at any time. You know, they never cleared it up. Keladry and Joren, that is. They left my case half open half shut so that no one would try to hunt me down, but my name isn't cleared up as of yet. I'm still on this odd parole of sorts. " He shook one finger. "All it takes is one bugger like him to go up to the DJPF and tell them an outrageous lie to throw my sorry ass in jail, Roald! No trial, no anything! Just jail!" Faleron backed away, sheen of sweat about to form on his skin from anxiety. "I can't go into any jail cell again. I'll go insane. I will. I really will."

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know? Do you have a criminal record, Roald? Do you? Well, I suppose _not_!" 

Roald sighed. The emotional distress came off his friend in distinct ripples of aura that traveled through the air until Roald felt them himself. "Come on, Fal. The girls are waiting for us. I'll meet you back again in ten to fifteen minutes. Hopefully they'll spend a lot of time talking after they finish lunch. That ought to give us enough time to observe him."

He started toward the swinging door of the rest room. Faleron leaned back on the sink, his arms folded across his chest.

"Hey, Roald? I'm sorry for yelling like that."

"It's okay. I know it's tough. I'd probably react the same way if I were in your position." He put one hand on the door. "So come on. You got a pretty girl out there waiting for you to spend time with her."

"Oh, but that isn't as great as it looks either," Faleron chuckled as they left the restroom.

"And why is that?"

"I'm not myself with her. The usual cynical me? I have to hide him so I don't offend her."

Roald stopped in front of the stairs. "Well then, she'll be good for you. People can change. You can change."

Faleron bit his lip. "Maybe I like the way I am, even if it does nothing but cause me trouble."

"Whatever works."

~~

"You okay? You need help?"

"No, I got it. I'm not a cripple you know." Neal stretched out his legs in front of him as he leaned on the side of a building. "Ah. That feels better." He shoved off from the wall. "Okay. I'm good. Let's go inside."

Cleon scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe we should have stayed at your place, Dude. Are you sure you want to go spy on Fal and Fia?"

"It was your suggestion, man. Besides, we have to give the man a hard time. Don't we always?"

"Yeah. I hope this was the place he was talking bout. The Alpheus?"

"It's the only Greek place in the T District."

They entered. Cleon touched the vines encircling the plaster columns. "Hey! These are real! Well, whaddya know... Want a grape, Neal?"

"I say we try to find Fal and Fia." Neal rested his hands on his hips. He looked up. "There's another floor of tables. Why don't we go up there? We can easily watch the rest of the place."

Cleon grinned. "Hey, we can drop grapes on them from there."

Neal wrinkled his nose. "Whatever. I need a glass of water."

"What for?"

"I have a pain killer I have to take. It's coupled with this seltzer thing."

"Whoa, don't those things make you sleepy?"

The older man nodded as they walked towards the stairs. "Yeah, but I'm always in the infirmary for one thing or another.  A lifetime of them has made me a bit resistant. They don't make me as drowsy as they used to. I guess I've built up an immunity."

~~

Lalasa put down her fork. She had just dropped a dark sauce covered piece of meat on her lap. "I'm going to the restroom, Sweetie. This stain might take a while, so you just go ahead and eat, okay?"

"Okay," Roald replied and continued eating his food. The food was slightly strange, but it would be completely fine with him until he knew what was in it.

He returned to listening in on Keladry and Liam. So far, they were talking about her job and her life. Every now and then, Liam inserted a fact of his own, but it was very hard to pin down. The man never gave a straight answer. _Men who never give straight answers are always hiding things._

Roald sighed and glanced at his watch. Now was the perfect opportunity to meet with Faleron, but he had to wait just a bit longer. Faleron would most likely need more time to sneak away.

~~

"Ooh. Grapes everywhere. Now I'm very hungry. Maybe we can give Faleron a hard time later."

Neal shook his head as he painfully lifted his legs higher going up the stairs. "No, no. You thought it up, now we're going to do it. We didn't just come here for the food. Food would be nice, but a glass of water for my medication would be better."

They took the nearest empty table next to the rail. Before they could pick up a menu, a woman came by with a platter of drinks. She smiled congenially at both of them and set the platter down on the table.

"Just water, thanks."

"Here you are, Sir." She placed the glass in front of Neal. Cleon shook his head when she offered him a glass. The waitress departed. Cleon gazed after her.

"I wonder what Kalasin would look like if she wore a toga dress like that." 

"Oh, but you'd better hope Roald never hears you say that."

"Give me a break, Neal. He's not here. He's not a mile within here. I can say it."

"If you want to..." Neal glanced out over the rail. "Hmm," he said as he shook his pills around his hand like he would dice. "Keladry's here with some guy we've never seen. I wonder who he is."

Cleon stood up, knocking over his chair and leaning over the table. "No way! Let me see!"

Neal, with his arm trapped between Cleon and the rail, tried to yank his hand back. "You idiot! Move! You're going to make me drop my meds!"

The redhead leaned out a tiny bit further, ignoring the arm that was pinned between his shoulder and the iron wrought rail. He squinted as he looked for Keladry. "Hey! You're right! There she is. What are the odds of that? I wonder if Faleron has already been to see them. I mean, maybe he hasn't even gotten here yet. Maybe we walked right past him."

(A few yards away, Faleron sunk in his chair a bit more, hiding his face behind his napkin and his spoon. Fianola stared at him with concern.

"Are you still sick?"

Faleron peeked from behind his napkin at Cleon and Neal, two tables away. He shrugged and nodded his head. "Oh, uh, just a bit. Heheh...")

Neal used all his strength and shoved Cleon back with his one arm. In doing so, he loosened his grip around his seltzers and they dropped below. He gasped. "You made me drop them!"

Cleon moved to look over the rail, but Neal yanked him back by the collar of his shirt.

"Don't look! If they hit someone, we'll get in trouble! Aw, man, and those were good for like five doses! You made me drop them all. You know what? Just pretend it never happened. I think I should have one spare in a pills case." He reached into his pants pocket and fished around for the tiny case.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay. We'll forget it ever happened."

~~

Roald continued to stare at Liam and read his lips. The volume in the restaurant had rose somewhat, and now he couldn't hear the other two's conversation. It was an awful thing, what he was doing. Eavesdropping was rude and an invasion of privacy. But he reasoned that it was all in Keladry's best interests. And Faleron's. After all, Liam may really have known who Faleron truly was. And the anguish that the former thief had exhibited in the bathroom was enough to convince Roald that what he was doing was right.

He was so focused on the task at hand and the restaurant was so loud, that he didn't hear the plops of foreign things landing in his glass and fizzing. He frowned and after a few seconds, reached for the glass to drink. The food was great, in its own way, but he wanted the aftertaste out of his mouth. 

He drank the water, wondering if it was supposed to taste like dishwater. 

"Ugh. Eating that food has affected my tongue. No wonder Faleron really got sick. Oh well. Bottom's up." He emptied the whole glass and set it down. He reached forward for his napkin and found himself yawning as he did so.

"That's odd," he commented to himself. "I slept very well last night. I wonder why I'm starting to get tired." He accidentally dropped his hand on a fork. "Hey, that hardly hurt. Hmm. My senses are strange, too. Maybe I'm working too hard." He rapidly blinked his eyes. "In any case, I should ask Lalasa to drive home."

Five minutes later, his head dropped onto the table in blissful sleep.

~~

Faleron sat up when Neal and Cleon became engrossed with whatever they were watching over the rail. He could care less. He had to see what Keladry and Liam were doing. He put down his napkin and spoon and scooted his chair over.

"Feeling better now?"

Faleron turned to his lunch date. "Uh, not really. I think I'll go down to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I'm so sorry about this."

"It's okay. If I'd known your stomach was so sensitive, I wouldn't have ordered it."

_Yes, yes. That's right. Just go ahead and think I'm a sensitive wimp. That's probably what you were thinking, me being the short and intelligent one, hmm? _He shook his head. He couldn't believe he actually thought that. That was exactly the reason why he shouldn't be involved with her. He was one million mean remarks, all bottled into one.

He stood up and stared over the rail. Liam and Keladry were still talking, though they had finished their food. Only salad and dessert? That was terribly unusual. Who ordered only salad and dessert?

_Roald, Roald, where are you?_

He spotted his friend with his head down on the table and his arms hanging off the arm rests on his chair like useless limbs. _Oh damn! He's unconscious! Did that bastard slip something into his drink? I've got to get down there!_

Faleron proceeded to the stairs in a calm fashion. Cleon and Neal weren't looking in his direction still, thank goodness for that. He ran down the stairs and almost bumped into a bus boy heading to the kitchen. He called an apology over his shoulder and slowed to a jog.

He glanced around him as he approached Roald's slumbering form.

"Psst. Roald. Wake up!"

He patted his friend's cheek. "Hey, wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up!" He felt for a pulse. "At least you're not dead." He shook him by the shoulder. "Roald? Roald? Roald Jasson, wake up right now!"

"Excuse me, Sir. Do you need some help?" a waitress asked.

The inwardly panicking man evaluated several different phrases he could say that wouldn't get him in trouble. A split second later, he answered, "No, no. My friend was burning the midnight oil, you might say, and he's still very tired. I'll just take him to the bathroom and splash some water on his face. Thank you. Here's money for the bill. I hope that covers it."

"Oh, don't worry about it. Thank you for dining at the Alpheus. Just come get me if you need anything."

"I will, thank you." He smiled and laughed nervously. When she was gone, he placed his hands under Roald's arms and hauled him up. He put one arm around his neck and supported the rest of his friend by the waist. "Come on. Walk with me, Roald. That's it."

"Uuuggghhh," Roald groaned as he started to come to.

"Come on... This way."

They stumbled to the bathroom. Faleron got Roald seated up on top of the counter. Then he cupped his hands under a faucet, waiting for the sensors to turn it on. When it did, he filled his hands with water and splashed it into Roald's face.

"Ah!" Roald cried as his eyes fully opened and he sputtered the water that had gotten into his mouth. "What... What? Why am I so tired?" Even after being doused with water, he leaned back on the mirror and closed his eyes again.

"Don't go to sleep! Wake up! Tell me what happened!" Faleron urged. 

Roald shrugged weakly. He sniffed. "I... I was listening to them like you said. And," he yawned. "I wanted to get the taste out of my mouth from the food. So I drank my whole glass of water. Man, that stuff tastes like dishwater. Must be my affected taste buds."

"Roald, I ate the food and drank the water. It doesn't taste like dishwater."

"Well maybe they got lazy back there and ran my glass under a faucet."

Faleron rubbed his chin. "It must be Liam. He must have dropped something into your drink when you least expected it. You're downstairs where he is. He could guess if you were spying on him, not like if he were looking for me. He would have had a hard time looking for me." He pounded his left fist into his right palm. "What if he saw Cleon and Neal looking over the rail? He could target them, too, just for looking at him! I've got to get out there..."

"Mmm..."

"Um... you just stay here. Okay?"

"Mmm..."

"I'll take that as a yes."

~~

Neal growled. "This stupid case won't open." He shook it. "I can hear about five of my spares in here. And I can't even open the case!"

Cleon held out his hand. "Let me try it."

"Oh, no. You already made me drop my others."

"Hey, Dude! You said that we'd forget about that."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Fine. Try. See if you can."

He handed the redhead the tiny pills case. Immediately, the sharpshooter set to work at opening them. He strained under the pressure. The lid of the case was really stuck. "Aw man! Who manufactured these things? They're so hard to open! What are they, childproofed?"

"In our case, yes."

"But that should mean that adults can open them, right? Man!" He felt the lid give way. Before he knew what was going on, the pills were propelled out of the case and into the air. Cleon shot up to his feet and tried to reach for them before they flew into the air any farther. He missed.

Neal yanked him down a second time before any other angry restaurant patrons realized that they were being pelted by _his _meds. Cleon shamefully sat down again, offering an apologetic smile. Neal simply glared at him and leaned on his elbow.

"Well. There we go. I'll be feeling some great pain today." He shook his head. "I'm going to the bathroom. You stay here."

"No way, Dude! You might trip down the stairs and break your neck or something. Look, I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz..."

"That I won't disagree with."

"Come on, let me help you."

"No, no. Cleon, I think you've helped enough." He stood up and stretched one leg, then the other, before beginning to walk. Despite his protests, Cleon accompanied him down the stairs and to the bathroom.

They argued the whole entire time, and Neal ended up yelling at him. 

"How can Faleron stand to have you around?!"

Cleon shrugged. "I don't know. He just does." A smile appeared on his face, remembering the tests and trials of his friendship with the shorter man. "Maybe we should leave after this. I don't want to bother him when he's out with Fianola. He'd be mad at me."

From where Faleron was standing behind a column right next to the bathroom door, he also smiled. He'd barely had enough time to dive behind there when he saw the two men come down the stairs. At least he knew he could count on his best friend like no other.

He went up the stairs and back to his table. Fianola was standing up and putting on her jacket.

"I'm sorry, Fal. Raoul just called me in to work. I might have to go out of town for a while."

He watched her try to smooth down he curly hair and straighten her appearance. She seemed sorry to go. Amazingly, he was sorry to see her leave, too. One thought stood out in his mind. _If she's going to be gone for so long, you need to tell her before she goes. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn't it? You don't need her heart to grow any fonder of you! Bad! Very Bad! Just keep on thinking of those six years difference and your stupid attitude, Fal! She'll eventually grow sick of your attitude, when she finally discovers it!_

"Um, Fia?"

She grinned. "Yeah?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the stairs. If Cleon could put up with him, then why couldn't Fia? He fought with Cleon, so he could fight with Fia. No relationship was squeaky clean. Roald and Lalasa had recently proven that to him. There would always be complications. Always. So...

"Nothing. It's nothing," he told her.

She nodded. "Okay. I guess this is... see you later, then." She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It was short, but enough for him to feel how soft her face was, and breathe in her scent. It was a natural high. "Bye, Fal. I'll be sure to call."

"Bye," he said quietly, and watched her walk away.

_She smells like apples picked right off the tree._

"Apples. I like apples," he smirked. "Apples are great. They're great."

A song was playing somewhere, just for him. Even though it happened to float over the radio from downstairs, picked by some radio disc jockey, Faleron would never deny that the song was playing just for him. It was a light tune, with some soft guitar. He grinned and headed back downstairs.

~~

Keladry and Liam gazed up at the statue of an ancient Greek god that they were musing about.

"The gods were one big family. Lots of intermarriage."

"Eww."

"I know."

She laughed. "Why was that anyway?"

"The people of different cities wanted to be united in a way, so they claimed that you could trace all your local gods back to the big guy in charge. In this case, and at this specific period of history, it was Zeus. They made up which were children of Zeus, and how they were all connected by making this god the father of that goddess or that one having married that one, then also marrying that one."

"Oh." Keladry looked back down at the table and picked up her glass. _Strange. I don't remember it having a tiny bubble. _Indeed, there was a tiny bubble near the surface of the water. She shrugged. Water had bubbles sometimes, if you shook your glass up. She and Liam had been talking for so long about random things that she was thirsty.

"Hmm... What time is it?"

"About 2:00 PM."

"Oh, wow. We've been talking for that long?"

"I suppose so. Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

"Yeah."

She blinked her eyes, suddenly a bit watery. She yawned into her hand. "Hmm... I can't believe I'm tired."

Liam leaned forward a tiny bit. "It doesn't surprise me. You were working at Mithran yesterday during that whole crisis with the bomb. You must be tired, whether you think you are or not."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." He seemed to be considering something. "Did you drive here?"

She yawned again. "Nope."

He stood up. "Well, I'm not trusting you to any taxi driver. You could fall asleep on the way and he could take advantage of that."

She laughed and leaned on her elbow. "How so?"

Liam picked up his jacket and put it on. "He could drive around a couple of extra miles, finally wake you up, and charge you for the whole trip."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious!"

He offered her his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion. Her date merely grinned and offered her his other hand as well. She allowed him to haul her up and lead her outside. They left money on the table and Liam handed a tip to the woman who had seated Keladry when they reached the front entrance.

They walked outside and started down the sidewalk.

"Do you have a car?"

"I do."

"So we're not taking a taxi?"

"No. I can't stand them."

She rubbed her eyes. "How do I know that you won't take advantage of me in my drowsy state?"

Liam stopped. Keladry turned around to face him. "Well, Keladry. I'll ask you now. Do you trust me? If you don't, I'll call a taxi and we'll ride to your place that way. If you do, I will be nothing short of a gentleman."

"You just said you hated taxis."

"Yes, I believe I did."

"And you'd still accompany me in one even if I said that I didn't trust you."

Liam shrugged. "I do believe that was the offer."

Keladry gnawed on the inside of her cheek. He looked sincere enough. "Okay then. Lead the way, driver."

~~

"Roald?" Lalasa frowned. She stood beside the table where she and Roald had been eating, but there was no sign of him. The plates had even been cleared off in her absence.

"Miss, may I help you?"

"Yes, have you seen my boyfriend? He and I were seated here, eating lunch not too long ago. I just went to the bathroom and he's... he's not here anymore..."

The woman shook her head. "That's impossible, Miss. Two men were seated here. One became tired, so I believe they left."

Lalasa snorted. "Yeah, right! My boyfriend and I were at this table. And if you don't tell me where he is, I'll do something drastic!"

"Miss! Please lower your tone! There were two men at this table, and they're gone now. I never saw you in my life, so how am I to know that you're just trying to get out of paying a bill at another table? I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere! Where is Roald?"

"Ma'am, please come with us."

Lalasa gasped as another man took her by the arm and led her away. The waitress followed. 

"I can't believe this! Roald! Roald, where are you? _Roald!_"

~~

"Roald! Oh man!"

Cleon had his hands on the sides of his head, completely shocked at the sight before him. Neal leaned forward and tapped Roald on the shoulder.

"Oooohhh..."

"Is he okay? What is he doing here? What's wrong with him?"

"I'm... I'm here with... 'Lasa...."

Cleon went to the door and peered out. He couldn't spot Lalasa anywhere. He went back to Roald's side and shook his head. "I don't see her anywhere. And you think that if Roald was sick, that Lalasa would be waiting just outside the bathroom door or something."

Neal frowned. He drummed his fingers on the counter. "Roald? Roald, can you hear me?"

Roald yawned. "Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Go away, Neal. I'm dreaming you up. I have to be. I'm practically asleep."

"Oh, great, Cleon. I think Roald is high."

"No!"

"Well, look at him." He leaned forward and lifted Roald's eyelid. "Pupils dilated and his skin is looking a bit pale. I say he feels a bit warm, don't you think?"

The redhead shrugged. His eyes were as wide as saucers. "I... I don't know. Your father is a doctor, right?"

"Well how else do I know what to check?" Neal retorted. In reality, he didn't know if Roald was drugged or maybe just sleepy as he claimed, but Neal wasn't about to take any chances. 

"Oh shit! This is so bad! How did he get here? What do you think happened?"

At that moment, Faleron waltzed in, a smile on his face. "Oh, hello, fellas! What are you doing here?"

"Faleron! We think Roald has been drugged!"

"Oh, yes, of course he is. Keladry's date drugged him."

Cleon stared at his best friend, wondering why and how the former thief in front of him could speak of it so calmly. Neal gaped with his mouth open. 

"Oh, don't tell me you're high, too."

"Why do you say that?" Faleron laughed.

Cleon threw his arms up into the air. "Dude! How can you act so happy when Roald is here nearly passed out?"

"Maybe if you just walked out into the group of tables again, you'd see Kel and her date talking. And you can ask Liam Irons all about why Roald is like this."

"Why would Kel's date drug Roald?" Neal asked.

"Because we know that he's evil."

"No way! Kel wouldn't date someone evil," Cleon protested.

"How do you know?"

"Because Kel is smarter than that."

"Well, what if he tricked her?"

"Why would he trick her?"

"Because he's evil?"

"How do we know he's evil?"

"Because he tricked her!"

"Well how do we know--?"

Neal groaned. "Just _shut up_, the both of you! Get Roald. We have to get him to a doctor or something."

Cleon and Faleron each took one of Roald's arms and slung it over their shoulders. Roald was barely able to lift one foot in front of another, but he did. Neal limped behind them, out into the main entrance of the restaurant.

There was a bit of screaming going on from the manager's office. A woman exited and saw them.

"I'm sorry about the loudness. I do hope your friend feels better, Sir."

"Thank you very much. Neal, tip her."

"Huh?"

"Just do it."

Neal fished into his pocket and handed the waitress a tip. She curtsied for them and waved as they walked out. Another scream came from the office behind her. The waitress rolled her eyes and went back inside. 

~~

Keladry snuggled into the comfortable passenger seat of Liam's black hover car. It was classy, but not too classy. A Styrofoam cup was in a tiny cup-holder, brown trace of liquid inside indicating that it had been coffee. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep the smell of the leather interior and pine air freshener.

"So where do you live?"

She opened her eyes. "Keep going straight on this street until you see the Goodwell's Gas Station. Make a left there and keep going until you see an apartment complex that has the word 'Government Property' on its sign."

"An address would have been just as useful. There is a navigation system in here."

"Sorry."

"It's alright. Go ahead an close your eyes."

She did. She wanted to stay awake so that she could listen to the world around her. All she heard was the sound of the car as it stopped and went. She could hear her own breathing, and the rustling of her clothing. But that was all. She had nothing to fear in his car. Nothing.

She dreamed of a broad space of bare concrete in the middle of the city. She was standing, watching her friends interact with one another. Except they weren't her friends. They were animals of different species.

Lalasa was a singing nightingale and Roald was a faithful dog. Cleon was a small monkey with red fur, messing with a sleeping fox, which she assumed was Faleron. Neal was a cat whose tail swished back and forth as he watched everything, and trotting pass him was a jackal with Joren's blue eyes.

A silver furred wolf met Joren halfway and started to growl low in its throat. Keladry could not place a name with this wolf, but it frightened her. Lalasa the nightingale twittered in alarm and Roald barked at it, while making a stand in front of his nightingale. Cleon jumped up and down, waving a fist at the wolf while Faleron calmly watched, his dark eyes glittering with anticipation. Neal hissed and his tail swished back even faster than before. 

But Joren didn't do anything. The jackal laid down on his stomach with his ears flattened against his head and he whined while the wolf hovered over him, his teeth bared. 

And then the wolf snapped forward and there was blood from the jackal, seeping into the concrete. Keladry simply stood there, wondering why Joren wouldn't fight back. It didn't make any sense. Of all people, he was most sure to fight anything.

And yet this silver wolf...

The wolf retreated from the injured jackal, and lied down before a Bengal Tiger that appeared out of nowhere. The wolf rolled onto his back and bared his belly submissively to the tiger, which swiped at it and walked past. The tiger stopped in front of Joren and lied down beside the injured animal. The tiger nudged it with his nose and lowered his head. 

And then there was nothing else.

Keladry was asleep when the car came to a complete stop, the car touched down on the ground, and the engine was turned off. Liam touched her gently on the shoulder. She stirred.

"We're here."

Keladry blinked her eyes a few times and sat up. "Oh. Right." She reached for the door handle and slowly opened the car door. "Thank you."

"I'd better walk you up," Liam said and got out as well. He met her on the other side and helped her out of his car. He shut the door behind him and offered her his arm. She was too tired to protest, and besides, he was warm.

They went up to her apartment. Keladry fiddled with her pager ID and unlocked the door. She turned around to face Liam again. "Thank you so much for lunch."

"No, thank _you_. I hope I wasn't a bore."

"Of course not. I had a great time."

"Really? Perhaps we can go for dinner some time in the near future."

"I'd love to," she found herself replying before she could stop to think about it. 

He smiled. "Wonderful. Now get some sleep. You're obviously more tired than you let on."

Keladry bit her lip. She watched him take three steps before she called out again. "Liam?"

"Yes?" He turned around.

"This may be a stupid question, but I was reminded of something by, um... never mind."

He walked back toward her again. "No, seriously. Go ahead and ask. I'm all ears."

She sighed. "Well, if you were an, um, animal, what animal would you be?"

Liam chuckled. "Interesting question. I'd have to say... a wolf. Definitely a wolf. The whole strong and deadly predator type thing. I suppose it's one of those testosterone-induced answers that just comes to a man without his wanting it to."

"I see. Well, thanks again. I'll see you later."

"Yes, later. Goodbye, Keladry." He reached down and lifted her hand to his lips. He bowed his head to her and retreated.

The elevator opened at the end of the hall. Joren exited from it, and immediately caught sight of Liam. Joren looked past him and glared long and hard at Keladry. She felt guilty for some unknown reason and cringed. 

Joren stopped in the middle of the hall. Liam came within two feet of him and also stopped.

"Ah, Stone is it? From the pool hall? We never had a proper introduction. My name is Liam Irons. I was just escorting Kel back here from lunch. You know, lunch? That meal in between breakfast and dinner?"

Joren scowled. "Don't insult me so, Mr. Irons. I know what lunch is."

"It wasn't meant as an insult, Mr. Stone. You just had this terribly serious look on your face and I wanted to make a joke. I'm sorry if I offended." Liam glanced over his shoulder and threw a smile at Keladry. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

"Don't come back here again."

Liam smirked. "I don't believe the decision is yours to make."

Joren shot him one last dirty look before shoving past. Liam chuckled to himself, and entered the elevator. He waved to Kel from the end of the hall just before the metallic doors slid closed. When the blonde special operative came within speaking range, Keladry confronted him.

"Why don't you just leave him alone, okay Stone? He didn't do anything to you."

"You are such an idiot, Mindelan."

"What?"

"Don't come running to me when you get in trouble. I won't be there."

She closed the door behind her and went into her kitchen. She'd never heard of stranger things come out of her partner's mouth. The nerve of him, berating her as if she'd been the one who'd gone off the deep end! She wouldn't expect any better behavior from him. He was always being a First Class jerk to her and everyone around her. To Hell if he was haunted by his past, there was excuse for only half of his actions!

"Asshole," she muttered.

A black box on the corner of her kitchen counter began beeping. She tapped the green button on it and read the message screen. 

"I have mail?"

She jogged over to her couch and picked up her portable database. She opened a tiny compartment on the side of the database and unwound a cable from it. She plugged it into the black box and downloaded her new mail.

"I wonder who it's from."

When the download was complete, she disconnected the cable and put it back in its compartment. Then she took the database with her to the bedroom and began reading the screen.

~~

_Dear Kel,_

_            I know it's been a long time, and I never call nor send you anything, but it's hard to find a spare moment up here to do anything of my own. You wouldn't believe how busy they keep all of us! We are a bunch of First Class and Second Class officers gathered from various places around Mithros, hundreds of miles away from home, on an expedition in the Roof of the World. _

_Oh, but it's like nothing you could have ever imagined up here. Though it is cold, there have been the strangest hot spots on our journey. In one place that Major Brant (my commanding officer) called Altwin, there was snow for miles around, and yet next to a mountain there was a cold waterfall accompanied by green trees and grass. We could step inside this circle of warmth and feel the green grass with our fingers. We could touch the stones, which were lukewarm. There was wildlife living there as well. It was an oasis in a frozen desert. _

_There are three main groups. There are the scouts. That's the group that I'm in. We scout out territory, figure out ways to get around obstacles, and stick our necks out for everyone else. Then there are the enforcers. Those are the guys in charge of protecting everyone. We squeak for help and they come running. Many of them travel back and forth from their group to ours. We always have a band of enforcers around. Then the majority of the scientists and the Immortals bring up the rear. A few from every Immortal species travel with us while the rest of them are at our base. Normally, this letter would be censored because of such information, but since this passes from one First Class officer to another, I pulled some strings. _

_How is everyone there in Tusaine? Yes, I know you're in Tusaine. How else would this reach you? Yesterday, I attempted to send you mail but your mail slot didn't exist anymore. I was able to contact Commissioner Wyldon. Boy, was he surprised to hear from me. I asked why your slot didn't exist anymore (I was even worried enough to suspect that you were no longer in service to the DJPF). He told me that you had transferred to Tusaine along with the others. So I looked up your new mail slot and the rest is history. _

_Is Neal behaving himself? Somehow, I have reason to believe his cheeks have been slapped a few more times since I've been away. Those poor women. We need to put a leash on him. Not kidding. Send him my best wishes. And tell him to lay off the clubs! (Haha)_

_I know that I'm not too familiar with your other new friends. Cleon Kennan, Lalasa Isran, and the others. But tell them hello for me anyway. Maybe they'll remember me from the banquet. The guy with the curly black hair who said the word 'jolly' one too many times. Well, I can't help it. Life IS jolly!_

_Are you still partners with that jerk, Joren Stone? I'm sorry if you still are. Has he changed at all? Have you two gotten to know each other at all? Have you even made a peace treaty?! In any case, don't take his crap. I know you, Kel. You can take him on. I'll be rooting for you._

_And lastly, Happy Birthday, Kel. I know I'm a tiny bit late, but Happy 21st Birthday. I wanted to get you a gift, but I'm not allowed to send anything. Not that there's anything here to send. Always remember that you have a friend in me. There are few who could boast of such a loyal friend as I who would take the time out of his busy adventure in the unknown to wish a friend- miles and miles away- good tidings on her birthday. May you remain as good and honest as you always have been and may you receive all that you wish for, no matter what it happens to be._

_What time is it? I must file a report on a recent situation I was involved in. I'll tell you about it. Though I warn you, it might not be all that comprehensible..._

_~~~_

A few days earlier:

I am out of my assigned tent trying to find my fellow 'tent mates' (since obviously I do not have a room and I therefore cannot have roommates). Major Brant has just ordered us to get our gear and get ready to pack up. There are three to four people to a tent, and we also operate and go out on scouting missions with one or two other tents as our group. It's a whole James Bond & co. deal, but a very sweet deal at that. There aren't really any enemies up here except nature, so stealth is usually taking a back seat. I like that.

Anyway, my tent mates! Aiden came from Carthak. He is an awesome guy to have survived that city. Aiden is naturally cool, for lack of better words. If we had gone to the same Academy, I bet he would have been the guy whom everyone knew and said 'hi' to, but was just too nervous to talk to because he looked so untouchably… _cool_. He has coal black hair, cut very short. It spikes without gel but looks like it has gel, a pretty strange thing to see. His eyes are like coal too, set on an angular, but pleasing tan face. He's tall like Neal, but he's really serious about his work and seems like a true blue honest guy. I don't think he's had very much fun in his life though. He's a momma's boy, to be blunt. Aiden reminds me of Keladry in that perspective. Crown teases him often about it. I don't know how Aiden could remain so pure like that, even after having worked in Carthak for so long. But ah well. Doesn't matter.

Peg and Crown both come from small suburbs around Tortall. Peg and Crown Sparrows are cousins. They're like me. They want to find adventure. Peg's very sweet. Of course, Peg isn't a tent mate because she's a girl, but she and another one of her tent mates scouts with us. She's only Second Class, but she is remarkably bright. If there's anyone you need to find a way of getting somewhere you normally wouldn't be able to get to, she can think one up. Why, we were stuck on this ledge one time and… I won't digress. Crown is a funny guy. He's about my height. Crown's the First Class officer. He and his cousin both have dirty blond hair cut to their shoulders, but Crown ties his back. They look like surfers at first glance, to be honest. Actually, they were surfers. They still do that on their vacations. But vacations are few and far in between for people like us. 

Aiden and Crown are both several years older than I am—Six and five, respectively. It takes some people years to get the status, and they took their time. Yes, unlike me… Neal and Keladry dragged me up there, or should I just say… _Keladry_? It's fine. I'm happy for the status. It's given me a lot of things so early in my life. I'm very happy.

I think that the hotspot that the scouts are currently camped in has been named Roget. I have no idea how they think up these names, but hey. Whatever floats their boat. The hotspot itself is twenty miles north of Quetzn, where Group B currently is. Our group, the Scouts, the risk-takers, the kamikazes, the... you get the idea. Well, we pave the way for them through the sleet and snow. And here we are.

Roget is a mile circumference of a great green circle. There's grass beneath your feet that gets greener and fresher as you head toward the center. There's also a fountain and a pool of water in the middle. The water is warm. You could take a nice hot bath in there and be perfectly content for a week. The trees are typically of the evergreen kind. I suppose that's how they survive the other cold conditions that seep into the edge of the hotspot. Winter animals with white furs occasionally graze in this circle of paradise. But they never stay long. Predators like to visit this place, too.

When we found our first hotspot, Aiden was sent with another scout to retrieve a scientist from Group C and check out what was going on. The scientist was some sort of geologist. He did some tests and claimed that there was low-pressure steam rising up through the bottom of the pools of water. The cold of the north chilled it as fast as the steam warmed it, so a constant equilibrium of temperature was created in that general area.

I honestly don't understand it. Does this mean that a volcano could have sprouted here? Steam from deep within the earth sounds a lot like fault lines and magma shooting up from a dormant volcano.

The camp itself is a network of tents, set up in a grid-like fashion. Every time we set down and pitch camp, the same order and arrangement of personnel is kept so that we're more efficient. I'm always on the Northern side. This is the coldest side, at the edge of the camp. Ugh. The mess tent is near the center, as is Major Brant's tent. I wonder why.

Our tents aren't too big. They're low to the ground and an almost pure white color so that we blend in with the snow. The insides of the tents are the normal camouflage green, as is our uniforms for when we explore the more tree-littered hotspots. We can turn the tents inside out, so to speak, to suit our environment. Other times, we have these snow colored uniforms. Our travel gear is the same.

Anyway, I'm out looking for tent mates. Everyone else around me has a different more general objective stuck on his or her minds. They look for a huge hypothesized hotspot somewhere past the mountains. That's where the Immortals want to go. And if they want to go there- aw, shoot- I'm not one for disappointing them. 

I find Crown at the mess tent. 

"Hey, Owen. What's shakin'?"

The man has some strange lingo. 

"Oh, everything's jolly."

"Jolly, huh?"

I mean, compared to mine, anyway.

"Where's Peg?"

"Nature called, I think. She's got to do some other things, too. We heard Major Brant order everyone to ship up and ship out." He eats a bread roll while we sit down at a collapsible table.

I drum my fingers on the table. "Where's Aiden?"

"Uh... I think he's getting the laundry done. Yes. Yes, he is. I saw him carrying his laundry bag a half an hour ago." He finishes his bread roll. "So did you already pack your stuff?"

"Yeah. I was waiting for the rest of you so we could take down the tent together."

Crown looks at his pager. "It's only seven in the morning. We can collapse the tent in half an hour when Peg and Aiden are found. Let's go pack."

I think of everyone here, Crown is my closest new friend. He's got a casual way of doing everything. His favorite phrase is 'no biggie'. Naturally, Major Brant claims all his headaches are Crown's doing. But though he is funny at times, he even gives me a headache. The person who best puts up with him is surprisingly not me, but Aiden. Once again, the coolness that is Aiden.

"Jesslaw! Sparrows! What is Sergeant's location?" Major Brant calls.

Aiden Sergeant. His last name is Sergeant. Oh, but I pity him in his Academy years. The grouchy Drill Sergeant of his Academy had to differ from when he was being addressed and when Aiden was being addressed, so I think he just called Aiden 'Maggot', or something similar. 

Major Brant is not as bad as I make him sound. Okay, that's a lie. He's in his early thirties, but still looks and acts and young as a new officer who's only been in the service for about three years. Major Brant is the poster boy for the DJPF Reserve Corps. No kidding. He's six feet tall with a muscular (but not bulky) build, tanned skin, strong chin, and a voice that reminds you of boot camp (whether you ever went to one or not). His cap is often times tipped down over his face so you can never see his eyebrows. It would be nicer never to see his eyes.

Major Brant marches up to Crown and me in his usual camouflage uniform and huge black army boots. We automatically salute. It's not something we were trained to do in our Academy days. When you're a normal officer of any class, you don't have to salute whenever you see a superior officer. When they address you in a formal way, yes you must. But casually, you don't.

It doesn't matter to Brant. You could be getting out of the wash tent trying to hold a towel around your waist. But if Brant walked by, you'd as hell better drop that towel and salute. Now that I've met Major Brant, I can honestly say that I want to hug Commissioner Wyldon and sob like a baby.

"Sir! We believe Sergeant is at the wash tent by the stream, doing his laundry," Crown answers. Brant raises an eyebrow. Crown catches himself and adds, "Sir!"

He nods and directs his gaze to me. Ah! What do those people on the wild animal encounters show always say? Never look them in the eyes! Avoid his eyes... avoid his eyes... Ack! I met his eyes.

"Something wrong, Jesslaw?"

"Sir, no, Sir." The eyes! The eyes tell all! Aaahhhh! I'm going to go blind!

"Jesslaw, are you sure?"

Eyes... my poor eyes...

"Sir, everything is tip-top, Sir!"

He turns his back. "Get out of here. I wanted all the tents in your section down _yesterday_!"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Crown and I reply in unison.

"And help the personnel at the mess tent disassemble at 800 hours!"

We reply the same three words again. Oh, but I should have known what I was getting myself into when I volunteered for this expedition. I mean, even the enforcers in Group B don't have guys as tough as Brant in them. And I bet Group C has square dances every Saturday night, wherever they've pitched camp! Of course, I have no factual evidence, but sometimes you have to go on faith. Ahem.

I wonder why Brant is in charge of our contingent of scouts anyway. I mean, isn't he more fitted for the B's? He treats us as if were in the same stupid platoons of the reserve corps. 

"We'd better get Aiden. Come on," Crown says and jogs ahead of me. I follow him, wondering if Aiden had been nice enough to get our laundry as well as his. After all, he was a momma's boy. That might stand for some good favors when it comes to chores. 

I rub my hands together. The further toward the borders of the hotspot you go, the colder it becomes. "Brrr... Isn't there a shorter way around?"

"Morning traffic," Crown replies, meaning the dozens of people going about their morning duties. The better thing to do is to find a non-populated path and just run the length of it. It gets your blood flowing anyway, and that keeps you warmer.

"Aw, man!" Crown groans. "I left my gloves at the mess tent! No biggie, though. Look, I'll catch up with you later. Just meet me at the tent after you get Aiden, okay?"

"Sure."

He jogs away, almost tripping over a tent stake that he couldn't see in the tall grass. Brant had wanted to mow some of the grass down for the temporary camp, but a scientist insisted that they were messing with the environment enough already. Yes. You could say that we are infesting this environment with our human cooties. 

I turn around and begin walking again. I look up at the sky, trying to find something interesting to hold my attention. Of course, the sky is gray. There are no clouds. Just a dull lifeless gray that made my eyes hurt after a few moments because of its sheer dullness. I wish that something would happen soon. If not, I'll go out of my mind with boredom. I mean, that was the point of this whole trip for me, wasn't it? Adventure? Excitement?

Well, gee, it doesn't get any more exciting than this, huh?

I'm so depressed over my current situation that I fail to see other people traversing around me—or coming straight at me.

"Oof!"

I stumble back a step when my shoulder smacks hard into someone else's right shoulder, facing him. The girl I collided with is on her butt, wincing from the fall. I feel immediately guilty.

"Wow.  Running into you is like running into a brick wall."

And immediately flattered. Whoa, Owen. Stop with the blushing! Help the girl up, you idiot.

"I'm sorry! I didn't see you. Are you alright?" I ask while offering my hand. She takes it and yanks herself up. The girl, woman I should say, is about the same height as me. She looks very exotic. Maybe she's Pure Yamani origin. Her almond-shaped eyes, tanned skin, and inky black hair are good indications. I can't tell her body type under her bulky uniform clothing. It doesn't matter. That's what those people on the talk shows are always saying, right? It's the personality that counts. 

Oh, but she's beautiful no matter what's supposed to count. 

…I wonder why I've never seen her before.

"I'm fine," she replies. She starts to brush herself off. "I think we'll both be watching where we're going next time, eh?"

"Definitely." She starts to walk off but I call out. "Hey! What's your name? Are you from Group B?"

The girl stares at me first, as if caught off guard by me, or maybe something right behind me. Hey—maybe she's stunned by my handsomeness like I am with her beauty. It's possible.

Oh, stop laughing.

"Um, yes, actually. They just changed out the last group of B's that was here before you all pick up and move away again." She gains more confidence as she continues to speak and re-approach me. She thrusts her hand toward me. "My name is Jealousani. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Owen," I reply. So, it's glove to glove. She has a nice firm handshake. Sign of good character, right? "So… Maybe we can meet up later at the mess tent after we're done moving camp. You know, just to get acquainted." Oh, I am so lame. She's never going to agree to that. Argh! Can you say _Loser_?

She considers it. "Hmm. Sure. Next time would be, like, for supper, right? I'll be there. A girl's got to eat. We'll meet up."

That was too easy. Maybe she's confused by my approach. Girls who think a guy is immediately hitting on her aren't _always_ equally attracted. I've seen Neal get swatted down one too many times for moving too fast. I'll be subtle. Really, I will. We'll start off as friends. "It's not a… a date, just so you know. This is just, um, a…"

"Friendly, welcome-to-the-group thing? Yeah, I figured."

Heheh… Wow. Pretty and witty. I like. I _like_.

She shrugs her shoulders and starts walking away. "It was great meeting you. I'll see you at dinner then." 

She honors me with the sight of her smile, her perfectly white, perfectly straight and even teeth. Oh, man. She's such a Betty; I can't even begin to tell you. I'm sure if Neal were here, he'd be swooning over her. I wish he _were_ here. I need his advice. Cute girl at ten o'clock! Go, go, go! What were the chances of me seeing someone like her in a place like this?

"Owen? Yo, Jesslaw! Snap out of it! People are walking, here!"

What? I throw a glance over my shoulder to discover Crown's younger cousin, Peg. She's my age; I'm not the youngest out of this whole group, thank goodness. She reminds me of a little sister. I guess it's because Crown and I are becoming good friends and Crown treats her like a little sister. I mean, she's not that younger than me, but she's got that youthful aura around her. 

"Oh, hey Peg. I didn't see you there."

She brushes back a golden strand from her forehead. "Of course you didn't. What were you gawking at, anyway?"

I point in the direction Jealousani had left. "I just made a new acquaintance, if you must know. A real beauty. Clever, too."

She blinks and nods slowly. "Oh. Okay." Before she lets the thought take up her mind, she punches me in the shoulder. "Come on, Aiden told me to find you and yell at you to hurry up to the tent. While you were obviously off in Lala land, standing here for who knows how long, they both made it back before you."

Ouch, that hurt. Don't act like a wimp, Owen. I rub my shoulder a bit and shrug. Funny. It didn't seem that long to me. I guess time goes by really quickly when you have something worthy to think about. "Well, thanks, Peg. I'll go meet them right now."

"See you." She jogs away, more abrupt than usual. I wonder what's wrong with her. She usually lingers around to crack some awful jokes with me. We have this running gag with ducks. Don't ask.

Later in the day, after we have picked up camp and moved a few miles to a colder hotspot (which remained classified as a hotspot for its grass and tree growth), I find myself still daydreaming about a particular Yamani girl and her award-winning smile. Even when I smack my hand with a tent pole, the pain doesn't bother me as much, because I've got something else to occupy my time. Crown seems to catch on to my weird behavior because he throws sly smirks my way when he can. If Neal can't be here to tease me, then I suppose Crown can have the job. 

We finish setting up our tent. Aiden, having shed a layer of clothing in heat of our work, wipes the sweat off his brow and looks to me with stern eyes. "What's going on with you today? You look like you're somewhere far away."

"This girl just transferred from Group B. She's so great. I'm having supper with her, so is that okay with you guys?"

"Sure. No biggie. We can live without you. It's not like you're the reason we _eat_ supper, you know," Crown laughs. 

Aiden isn't as easy going as Crown. He stretches his arms while he speaks. "Well, you move fast. You just met her? So how come we haven't heard of a new transfer?"

"Please, man. They don't announce these things like the blue-light special at a Wal-Mart. I mean, she _is_ a blue-light special, in a way, but you know. I'd like to think I'm the only guy right now who's going to have a chance with her."

"Uh-huh. I don't have a good feeling about this."

I can't believe it. I put my hands on my hips and stare at my older friend. "Aiden! Give me a break! She's just a girl, not an assassin!" I don't continue farther, for I am immediately reminded of the Immortals habitat and that female spy, KJ. Beautiful and deadly. Oh, but that's not in this case. Why should I even worry? "She's really nice, and I'd appreciate it if you were happy for my luck."

Aiden sighs. "Alright. But I still don't like the feeling of this."

"You don't like the feeling of anything," Crown retorts.

"Shut up," he replies. Aiden turns back to me. "Have your fun. But snap out of daydreaming for now and start putting your stuff in the tent. Crown and I are here sweating amidst a flaky white landscape and you barely look winded."

"Ya bum!" Crown adds sarcastically, giving me the evil eye. Aiden looks over his shoulder to glare daggers once again at the surfer and crouches down to identify his pack among ours. We haul our belongings into the tent and take care of the rest of our chores before we clean up to go to supper. Crown begins telling a story that everyone has heard a few times over, but no one chooses to stop him. Aiden even cracks a smile.

By the time he gets to the part about the man in the hat, we're standing in line for food and I am scanning the thin crowd of fellow scouts for Jealousani. Maybe she forgot. If I were her and some weird stranger entreated me to supper, I would probably forget about it, too. I'm such an idiot. Why did I even bother? I'll just get my food and sit with Aiden, Crown, and Peg.

"So where's your dream girl, man?" Crown asks. He fills up his tray with as much food as he is allowed. Even though Aiden and I aren't as hungry, we fill up our trays anyway for Crown's leeching benefit.

I scan the group of men and women in front of me. "I don't see her yet. Not everyone's here, you know."

We get drinks and find a small bench to sit down on. In a few minutes, Peg and a tent mate of hers join us. They drag up an even smaller bench and sit down. They chatter on as they seat themselves, and Crown joins in on the conversation. Aiden remains silent and eats his meal.

"So, Owen, what's with you? You lost something?" Peg asks me. "You look like you lost something."

A flash of perfectly black hair and a beautifully structured face catch my eye. I stand up immediately, careful not to spill my tray. My friends instantly fix their gazes on me. Peg stands up. "Is something wrong?"

"Ah, no. I just…"

"He just saw his dream girl, obviously. Go woo her like the heartbreaker you are, Owen," Crown drawled. He made a shooing gesture with his hands. He dismisses me without another thought and discovers there is no more food on his plate. He smiles slyly at Aiden before snatching a piece of food from the other man's tray. Aiden doesn't seem to notice. He is still staring at me.

I smile because Jealousani sees me. She waves for me to come over. "Sorry, guys. I'll catch up with you later."

Peg steps back so I can move past. She sits down on her bench slowly. 

"Later," she calls weakly to my retreating back. I wave and hurry over with my tray to the other side of the clearing. The young woman I had met before on that morning's collision greets me with a pearly smile.

Life doesn't get any jollier than this.

"Hi! Guess what!" she says as she sits down with her tray in her lap. She pats the space beside me, inviting me to sit down. It's a small bench, so I try not to get too close to no avail. My arm is up against hers, and I try to lean away out of gentlemanly courtesy. She does not notice.

"What's up?"

"I get to go scouting tomorrow, even though the rest of the B's are staying behind here at camp. Do you want to come with me?" She nudges me with her elbow and pouts prettily. At this close a range, I can't help but notice that her beautiful lips parted a tiny sliver, warmth is radiating off her body, and her bright eyes twinkle…

My nose tingles. Whoa! I've never had a nosebleed in my life! Don't tell me I'm…

"Owen? Owen!"

"Ah! Sorry."

"Do you want to go or not?"

"I'd love you."

"Huh?"

AAAHHHH!

"I said I'd love to."

Phew. That was too close. Thankfully, if she has heard the first response, she's choosing to ignore it. I don't think I would have been able to yank myself out of that mess. She'd probably think I was a stalker or something. I mean… We just met. I know this is pretty unusual for a guy, especially one in the 'service' like I am. But I really think that when you meet the right person, it sort of clicks. Just like that. 

"You seem very content just staring at me like that. What's on your mind?"

This is your chance, Owen. Don't be a loser. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

She regards me curiously. "Maybe. Depends. Do you?"

"Certainly."

My heart is going to burst out of my chest. Why did I have to go and blurt that out?! She's going to laugh. I just know it.

"Hmm. You're a sweetheart." She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. "But it's late and a little too heavy a topic to talk about just now. We'll try again tomorrow, eh?" She stands up and dumps her trash from her tray. 

"Tomorrow, you mean, when we go scouting?"

"Yup! You just got to love adventure!"

Adventure? Did she say she was looking for adventure? The woman is not only the most beautiful specimen of the female gender that I've ever seen, she's sassy and clever… she's independent, that I'm sure of if she made it as a DJPF officer… and for the love of God, she likes adventure! _I_ like adventure! 

In a dreamy daze, I dump my trash as well and set the tray down on its rightful stack. Everyone else is preparing to get last minute orders for the next morning, but I already know that I have a free day tomorrow. A free day would be the perfect opportunity to go scouting with her tomorrow. Yes. Absolutely perfect! 

How in the world will I be able to sleep? I can't stop thinking about how lucky I am! Not even Major Brant could spoil this moment! I feel like I'm floating in midair. My head is so light and airy. Is this what love feels like? No wonder Neal spends most of his time falling in love. Okay, so maybe it's not as intense for him. He is a little fickle to ever stick to any one great love. But oh… oh, oh, oh…

A hand waves itself in front of my face, trying to snap me out of my trance. I don't even mind. I'm too busy imagining my perfect future. Yeah, we would continue seeing each other during the expedition. Afterwards, she would transfer to my district back home and we'd continue to date. I'd propose under a starry sky and we'd get married in the summertime. She could do all the fancy wedding planning. I don't care for that. And then we could spend the rest of our lives together. Kids, even.

Yeah. It sounds a little crazy, but what about love _isn't_ crazy?

"Yup. He's a goner," Crown says to Peg as they and Aiden observe me. 

Peg slaps the back of my head. "Wake up! Everyone's heading off to bed. You might want to sleep, too."

"Ouch! Give me a break, Peg!"

"Well I would if you weren't acting like a stupid schoolboy fawning over the new girl."

Do I sense a tone of bitterness here? "Calm down, Peg. Don't get so mad. I'm getting to bed. Come on, guys."

"Is my dear coz jealous?" Crown teases Peg behind my turned back.

Jealous? But it's Peg. Peg is just my friend. That's the way things are supposed to be. She growls and stomps off, joining her tent mates for lights out. I bet Crown is just joking. He does crazy things like that. Yes. Yes, of course. It's just a harmless joke.

"Leave her alone, Crown. Let's go." The oldest member of our trio grabs him by the collar and drags him behind me.  

~~

"Hey, what are you doing up so early? We don't even have duties today," Aiden yawns as he sits up on his bedroll. He sleeps in the middle of us three, with Crown happily snoring on the other side from me. I pull another layer over of head and look around my pack for my gloves. 

"I'm going scouting with Jealousani."

"Is that her name, huh? Well, be careful. And leave your pager on. Better yet, bring a walkie-talkie."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Stop acting like my mother."

Aiden narrows his eyes. "Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd start seeing straight. We're in a whole new frontier, Owen. There's always going to be time to flirt with girls, but not in this environment."

"What the hell…? Why are you guys up?" Crown moans from his bedroll. He turns on his side and kicks Aiden to demand some attention. Aiden swats him away.

"Owen's volunteered to scout with his dream girl."

"Oh? Is that all? Then can you two shut up so I can sleep?"

"Yeah, we will." Aiden replies but his steely gaze is directed at me. "Owen, page us at the first sign of trouble." Before Crown protests that we still haven't stopped talking, Aiden yanks the covers over the other man's head and gives me a warning look. He settles back into his bedroll, but his eyes never leave me while I remain inside the tent. 

I know Aiden is a great guy. He's responsible and trustworthy. Like I've said many times before, untouchably cool. But being Mr. Perfect like him really does annoy me sometimes. His portrayal of an overbearing parent just happens to top the list at this moment. I'm convinced now that he's Keladry's long lost twin. Their personalities are matched down to the last scolding. 

Jealousani and I meet at the edge of camp. She seems to be wearing fewer layers than I am. I become cold faster than other people, so I don't think much more of it. She beckons me to approach and grabs my hand.

"Well, come on! A whole new frontier awaits!"

That's not the only thing that waits. I can't help but grin at the prospect of getting closer to her. Where has this woman been all my life?

~~

"Oh, wow. Is that a cave over there?"

I squint my eyes in the blinding white snow. "I believe it is." Glancing around, I realize that we've gone farther than we should have from camp. "You know, since you're new to mapping out land and stuff, maybe we should head in a few hundred feet, eh? I mean, I can handle it, but since this whole trip is to get you prepared—"

"Don't be a spoil-sport, Owen. Don't you want to find adventure?"

She already knows my weak spot. To add to this, she pouts in that incredibly sexy way that she does and takes her hand in mine. I sigh, realizing that over the last twenty-four hours, I've just about lost my whole heart to her. Jealousani begins to walk backwards while leading me.

"We won't be too long. After the cave, we'll turn back. I promise."  
  


"If you say so."

I feel the snow sloshing underneath my feet as we lift our legs high and forward. You could barely tell there was a cave there at all, the way the snow piled at the entrance. I was glad that the snow wasn't coming down on our heads, but some strange intuition told me that it would soon enough. I'd better make sure that we leave in a few minutes.

We duck to enter the cave. The first thing we notice is the rise in temperature.

"Is it just me, or is it warmer than outside?"

"Could be a mini-hotspot or something," I mutter, looking around. I reach into my pack and get my flashlight. Whew! It is a little warm in here. Without thinking, I automatically shrug off my outer jacket and drape it over my shoulder. Jealousani does the same. 

"I should probably page Aiden. He must be wondering what's taking us so long."

"Oh, do you have to do that now? Come on, we haven't found anything yet."

"But…"

"No 'buts'. Let's keep looking, okay?"

Ah well. I can deal with the 'foster parent' that is Aiden Sergeant when we get back. I glance at my watch and sigh. It was getting a bit late for the two of us to be out. We really should head back in. 

She walks ahead a few steps, shining her own flashlight further into the cave. "Hey! I think I hear running water."

"Melting snow?" I wonder to myself. "The hotspot could melt the snow and create some sort of water source, I suppose. We should go back and report." I try to reach for her arm, but she twists away.

"Well, we have to go see it first, don't we? I mean, what if it isn't running water at all? Come on, Owen. Let's have a look!" her tone changes to an impatient one. I have to admit, she does have a point. I know, I know. I barely know this girl, but I'm letting her boss me around like we've been together forever. She just makes it so easy to do what she says…

"Owen? Come on!"

"Oh, okay." I sigh and trudge after her. I watch the ground in front of me, making sure we don't trip in anything. She keeps her flashlight pointed above to make sure our heads don't bump into anything. We walk for a few minutes very slowly. We duck three times through little portals that led to even larger cavern chambers. The number of stalactites and stalagmites is amazing. This place must truly be ancient.

I see trickling water running down the stalactites and forming pools of water. The lowness of the water requires me to crouch down. I remove my gloves and dip the fingers of my left hand into the pool. The water was mostly cool, just like freshly melted snow. The snow above the cave could melt from the rising heat of the hotspot, then seep through the rock until it came in here. 

That meant that the water had to empty out somewhere down here. Otherwise this cavern would have been flooded ages ago.

"I think I see an underground river! Owen, get over here!"

I stand up, almost tripping over a rock formation behind me. I swing my beam of light in an arc around me. She's not here? Oh shit! Where is she? Oh, crap. This is bad. This is _very_ bad…

"Owen! Down here!"

Eh? "I can't see you! Where are you?"

"Over _here_!"

I follow the voice. A rocky portal, just like many we've passed through, leads to an even bigger chamber. Unfortunately, it's practically a straight drop down from there. I brace myself against the sides and shine my flashlight downwards. I'd better not drop it. This is my only one.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips when I see her waving from the bottom. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts. "Shine the light over there!" She points.

Ye Gods. There _is_ an underground river. It looks inky black from where I am, but considering that this is a cave and there is no light, it's probably clearer than I think it is. The river is about ten feet wide, and moving slowly west. While I gape, she shouts a second time.

 "Do you have any stationary lights we could put around?"

"No, I don't… Wait. Yeah, yeah I do!" I grin when I realize that I do happen to have a few. "Let me climb down first. Can you shine your flashlight in my path?"

"Sure!"

"Okay, give me a second." I pull back from the edge and out of her view. Now I definitely have to page someone. I pull my sleeve back to look at the mechanism on my wrist. 

Aiden's already paged me. Oh, how surprising. _Not_.

" 'Everyone else has already given their mid-day reports and is heading back. Where the hell are you?' Huh. It's later than I thought it was." 

I quickly type something back, reading along the lines of:  "Found an underground river. She wants to see where it leads. Do I ever interfere when _you're_ trying to get close to girl?"

I press send and pull my sleeve back over the pager. I put my flashlight into the breast pocket of one my many layers and look for the light that Jealousani's shining for me. I wonder how she got down there with no light to guide her… I tighten the straps of my pack on my back and start down the ledge, hoping that I don't fall. 

That's it; steady, Owen. Don't look down. Just feel the rocks under you. Take your time. I can't fall. Of course I can't fall. I've got luck on my side. The proof is there! I've landed a spot in a very important expedition in the Roof of the World. I have Jealousani, waiting for me at the bottom. Of course I have luck! I'm not going to faaaaAAHHH!!

"Crap!" I scream as I lose my footing. My hand shoots out and grabs the first solid thing it lands on.

Unfortunately, this rock comes loose and I feel my arms and legs moving about aimlessly, doing the Scooby-Doo motions as I fall backwards. Though I'm falling, I feel weightless, and I inadvertently try to enjoy the weightless feeling before I land smack into the ground and die…

"Oof!" The wind rushes out of me as I land on the ground butt first. Ow. I tell you… Ow. Ow! Aaaawww… I hiss in pain and roll onto my belly, trying to assuage my poor posterior by rubbing it. Ow! For crying out loud, that's the best thing you could have done, Owen! Make a fool out of yourself in front of the potential girlfriend! You're such a loser, Owen!

The indignity of it all clouds the fact that I was not that far from the bottom when I fell. I could have died, but I didn't. I'm more worried about what she saw than my profound luck. Well… I am glad! I'm glad that I got embarrassed instead of killed! Looks like today will be etched in my memory for quite some time.

"Are you okay?" she asks, bending over me with her flashlight. I groan and roll onto my back. 

"My poor butt."

She starts giggling. "Aw. Poor baby. Come on. Let's get you up." She offers her hand to me and I take it. She pulls me up without too much effort and helps to brush me off. "Are you sure you're okay?"

My bottom is still aching, but maybe it will get better by the time we're out of here. I'm tempted to go outside and sit on the snow. That would be wonderful. "I'm fine. I should have been more careful." I take off my pack and rummage through it. "I have a few lights in here. They just glow, not like a flashlight. There is no direct beam of light, just a glow."

"That's fine," she replies. I hand her cylindrical disks that look like oversized hockey pucks. She feels along the edge and turns them on. The area around us is now lit up with the soft glow of the lights. "We'll leave one here and keep the rest until we go further down."

"You sure you don't want to turn back? We've found the water. We can go straight back and return tomorrow with more people."

She shakes her head resolutely. "No way. Let's go now."

I trudge after her, wondering if this could qualify for the worst first date in the history of time. The only good thing about it is Jealousani. The problem is, I'm having a hard time keeping that in mind while my sore bottom sends up jolts of pain every time I move too much. I could have had an injury from falling. I could have died. I'm in the middle of nowhere at the Roof of the World.

My mind chooses to reiterate all these facts until this day is over. I'm lucky, but mostly _unlucky_.

"Come on, what's taking you so long?" Jealousani calls impatiently from a few feet away. I start to jog.

"I really think we should turn back."

"What happened to finding adventure, huh?"

"Oh, I already had my adventure. Flying through the air and landing on my butt was quite the adventure." Wow. I must sound like a real wimp right now. Argh! I don't care! I want to go back. This isn't fun anymore.

I want to go back to my tent and fall asleep listening to my three friends bicker over the most stupid things known to man. I wouldn't mind getting a few chores from Major Brant right now if it meant getting out of this damn place. We walk for what seems like forever, the sound of the slowly moving river the only thing filling my ears.

You would think that this would have been the greatest day of my life. I mean, Jealousani…

"Oh. My. God."

I look up, pointing my flashlight at where she stood in front of me.

"What is it?"

"Don't you see it? Look!"

We had arrived at the end of the river, where a large pool of water formed. It seemed to go deeper from there and probably emptied out some other place. Ah well. Finding the end of the line for the water seemed like a complete bust. There are many, many ledges and fallen stalagmites in this cavern that spirals up to a stalactite-covered ceiling. Jealousani sets down the disks of light down at random points on the ground until everything is lit up with a soft eerie glow.

"This place is pretty, I guess." What else am I supposed to say? Jeez, she looks really happy.

"Oh, give me a break, Owen! Just look right there!" She took my chin in her hand and moved my face until I was staring at a particularly large ledge. "What does that look like to you?"

I shrug. There are points of shine and glitter in the rocky walls. It is hard to tell, even with the glow of lights. "Um… gold, I guess. It's probably not…" I stop when I catch Jealousani's eye. "Oh, you don't think that it's really…"

A sly smile alights her face. I have a gut feeling that something bad is about to happen. We really ought to head back. I don't want to get stuck out here by nightfall. I start to turn and walk. "We should go back and report it then. Come on. Let's go."

"Oh, Owen. You think they are going to believe us without some proof?" Jealousani begins to climb the ledge. I groan and follow her.

"Get down from there! It's dangerous!"

"Come up and get me!"

I suddenly see how Aiden can get so mad at Crown and me now. This is terrible! I'm so worried… Oh, wow. I should just stand here and wait to catch her. I've fallen once. _She_ could fall. Please, please don't let her fall… Phew. She made it. I start to climb after her, ignoring my urge to climb back down and stay by the riverbank. I press my body up against the rocks. I am not willing to fall a second time.

"Hurry, Owen. I don't have any equipment to get a little chip of this out. You have something we can use, right?"

"Yeah, I think I have something that will work," I say with clenched teeth. The weight of the pack on my back reminds me of the pick I carry. I know-- what the hell am I doing with a pick? Well, there are a lot of situations where the darn thing comes in handy. It ought to be enough to dig out a tiny piece of whatever Fools' Gold is up there at the ledge.

I finally reach the top. As soon as I get there, I take off my pack and set it down. Jealousani watches me stretch my arms and legs.

"This is so awesome. Gold!"

"It's probably fake. Fools' Gold, Jealousani."

"No, trust me. It's real gold. I know my stuff. Do you know how much is here? I'll have to rig a pulley thing with rope over that rock over there. We can lower it down. You see?"

Knows her stuff? How the hell does she know stuff like this? She's in the DJPF! Since when were we judges of real and fake gold? I shrug it off and retrieve the pick from my pack. She takes it from me. "What else do you have with you?" she asks. "We can get a lot by ourselves and bring it back with us."

"Um, I have some flares, rope like you mentioned, a hunting knife, some odds and ends. It's pretty regulatory stuff."  
  


"You have a gun?"

"Well, I'm just a scout. We usually don't need them, considering the lack of animal life out here to defend ourselves from."

She takes a swing at the rock. A chip of shiny gold pops up into the air. She expertly catches it in the palm of her hand. "I forgot mine."

"Forgot yours? But, you're with the B's. How could you forget?"

"I just forgot. They didn't let me bring as much in my pack as I thought they would."  
  


I curiously reach for her pack. It's smaller than mine. Hmm. It's not even the type that they usually give us scouts. I suppose it's from her group, back wherever they are. Funny, I thought all the groups had the same gear. Ah, once again, more evidence to my naivety.

"What are you doing?" she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Just want to see what they _did_ let you bring."

She lowers her hands from the wall. "Later. Why don't you make your report now? We'll head back, I swear."

She smiles at me. My heart melts. I really like this girl. Hey! She wants me to report in. She's not as crazy as I thought she was about all of this. We get to _leave_, finally! I pull back my sleeve and begin to type a simple message. When I press the send button, it begins to beep. I read the status message. 

"Aw, this is great. I have to go further out of the cave. I can't get a signal from in here." I start toward the ledge. "You stay here, I'll be right back."

"Okay."

I climb back down with my flashlight. The glow of the circular disks still lights up the chamber, but I'd rather have the flashlight with me when I went down the long natural tunnel with the river. I try several times to send a message as I'm retracing our footsteps back to the opening of the cave. My pager continues to beep and flash the status message I'd read before.

Then it stopped beeping. 

"Yes!"

_Beep. Beep._

Aw, man. I sigh and resume my walk on the riverbank, trying to get a signal. Awkwardly, I hold my wrist over my head, hoping for any sort of reception at all. Confound my luck! 

I hear some noise behind me. What is that? I look over my shoulder and—

Something heavy hits the back of my head. It's an explosion of pain. I feel like my skull has been cracked open. It probably is. Am I going to die? This isn't anything like the ledge. I can feel the severity of the pain this time! I drop my flashlight on the ground. My head feels dizzy and faint, as well as throbbing with excruciating pain as I fall forward.

Everything goes black.

~~

When I awake, the first thing I am aware of is my headache. It feels like a full-blown migraine. It would make sense if someone had a jackhammer to my head. Yes, because that is exactly what it feels like. I groan. My body moves as if to roll over onto my stomach. I could push myself up from there.

I can't move.

Wait, my limbs just feel like lead. Of course I can move. Let's see now. Just… Just… no, wait. I really can't move. I can feel my fingers and my toes, but why can't I move?

A disk of light is activated and set down on the ground. My eyes adjust to the new light and I attempt to determine what is keeping me from moving.

Rope? What's my rope doing tied around my wrists and ankles? My hands are behind my back! And what's that huge rock doing, tied to my ankles? Can't someone tell me what the hell is going on here? I cough as I speak. My throat is so dry. "J… Jealousani?"

"Right here, baby."

A light disk is activated in the darkness. I can see her now, kneeling beside me. She reaches forward and strokes my cheek tenderly. I wince in pain. "Help me!"

"Why would I help you?"

…What?

She laughed now, shaking her head as she stood up. "Owen, think. I'm the only person within miles. Who else do you think tied you up?"

Oh my God, oh my God… "But why?"

Her tongue made a clucking sound. "Tsk, tsk. You didn't even bother to check my references with anyone, did you? Oh, I guess you were too 'moonstruck', eh?"

I try not to think of the insignificant fact that it was _morning_ when we met and that the movie _Moonstruck_ really sucked in my opinion, but otherwise, my attention is focused on her treachery and my stupidity. I really hadn't thought of checking out her background! When you're in love—especially in love at first sight—you don't check your dream girl's permanent record to find out if she has any psychotic tendencies! You're supposed to just let everything flow.

Flow. Like a river. Like the one that I followed beside her. The river came to a freaking end, though, didn't it? I can't believe this is happening! She was supposed to be the greatest thing that ever happened to me within a span of two days! How come Neal never picks up psychotic chicks? Why me?!

"That… that still doesn't answer my question. How could you do this? Why?" I choke out.

Jealousani rolls her eyes and idly circles around my prone form. "We always thought that there was gold at the Roof the World. We'd heard myths. But there was no way we could pull in the resources to go up North by ourselves without being detected and without eventually starving to death. So, I was slated to infiltrate." She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and the other way over her head. "Ta da! Here I am. Seductive, mysterious, and totally successful at out-witting your sorry candy ass."

And to think, I'd imagined having children with this woman. 

She continues. "So, here's the deal. I kill you. I get the gold. I map the location of the cave." She began counting off her fingers. "Bury the entrance with snow until I reconnoiter with my people, who are also infiltrating your baggage group and stealing supplies to live off of. We wait until your people have moved out of range. Take the gold. Become filthy stinking rich."

"You'll never get away with this!"

Original, Owen. Really original.

"Hmm," she sits down by my feet and pats my shoes. "But I am." And with that, she braces her feet against the rock connected to my ankles and kicks off with all her strength.  Before I can even scream, I'm sent over the edge. The edge. That means…

The river.

"Ah!" I scream before my mouth fills with water. I cough and sputter, expelling what water I can from my lips. The heavy rock drags my feet down. My first impulse is to scrunch up into a tiny ball so I can hope to untie my ankles.  The thing is, my arms are behind my back. I can't bend back enough to reach. Damn my inflexibility! It's going to be the death of me!

I can feel the bottom. The rock has hit the bottom. I'm going to die. Oh God I'm going to die.

Panic seizes me.  I have to get out of these ropes! I don't want to die just yet! There are so many things I want to do! I can't believe this is it! It can't be! I try to shoot upward, to break free of the ropes. My body straightens as I reach up. Hopefully, this is up. I can't tell. It's too dark.

How appropriate. I'll slip into the darkness from the darkness. Or maybe there will be light after this.

Air rushes into my lungs. How is that possible? 

Oh, thank Heaven! The surface! My head's above water! _The river is shallow!_ I gasp and suck in the air like there were no tomorrow. Which might have been the case if I had not stretched my body up to reach the surface. I can see light now. The steady glow of the light disks allows me to see the slowly moving water around me. It ripples and reflects back black. 

"Damn it!" I hear Jealousani curse from my left. She waits to see if I swim or kick, or do anything at all. All I can do is stretch my neck and gasp for breath. I cough what water was left in my throat.

She watches me intently, probably considering other ways to kill me. Her eyes, which had seemed so attractive to me the night before, now only show the cruelty of her nature. Her mouth was set in a half snarl, frustrated that I hadn't drowned. 

"The water level is rising," she noted in a singsong voice. "It's the melted snow! And the knots I made in the ropes are strong. I don't have to do a thing after all. You'll die on your own. When the water rises over your head, you'll drown!" She clapped happily. "I do love a good ending."

"You bitch!" I scream. It is too damn ironic that I called her my dream girl but minutes before. Why do these bad things keep happening to me? What did I do to deserve them? My anger toward my luck and her vents itself through my struggles. "You greedy gold digger! I can't believe you'd even kill to get your stupid gold!"

She nodded. "Uh-huh. You betcha. You know, if I were you, Owen, I'd spend my last few minutes of life trying to make peace with yourself or whatever. You _are_ going to die!"

"I hate you!" I cry rather pathetically.

"Ouch. That hurt," she fakes offense. "Honestly, you are so lame. I can't believe I had to fake all that stuff for the last two days. A complete annoyance."

I am the world's biggest chump. No, I am the _universe_'s biggest chump. If there are multiple dimensions, then I am the biggest chump of all of _them_! Argh! How could I be so stupid! I'm never going to fall in love ever again! The woman would probably just screw me over one way or another! 

Oh, man. That's only if I get out of here. I can't just drown here! A whole entire life of this… and… and that… and it all ends just here? The water will rise over my head, I'll try to hold my breath as long as I can, the pain will be too great, and I'll just inhale the water, to die? This, for the lack of better words, _sucks_! I don't want to die! 

In the midst of my panicked thoughts, I notice Jealousani slink away to mine her precious gold. That _bitch_. I hope she rots in hell. If there is a hell. Am I going to hell? No, no. Why would I go to hell? I've spent a lifetime doing good deeds. Okay, okay. So I don't have the right to say whether or not I'm going to hell or heaven. I won't talk about it. 

The water is starting to feel colder. Maybe I've been in here too long. It's been a while since Jealousani left. All I can think about is what death is going to feel like. The moment before you die. Is it a realization? Does my life flash in front of my eyes?

I'm so scared. I'm not ready to go yet. 

The water. It's so cold. Oh, man. The water's risen to my lips. I have to stretch my neck even more to keep my nose above water. I can't do this for much longer! Someone, anyone, help me! Please, if there is a God, strike Jealousani with some sort of guilt! Make her let me go! I can't _do_ this! I just can't!

It never ceases to amaze me that whenever someone says they can't do something, they are never given the choice to refuse. I refuse to die, but I'm not allowed to say no. I just have to die.

The water is rising to my nostrils now. Stretch your neck, Owen. Damn it! Stretch your damn neck! Kick with your feet if it propels you up any more! I have to break free of this damn rope!

Shit, shit, shit… I've never cursed so much in my life… But I suppose I'm a little tense. I mean… Heheh… the water… Oh, crap, the waters at my nose now! Hold your breath, Owen. Hold your breath. There's still a chance that she'll come back and let ya go. Damn it, Owen! Hold your freaking breath!

My lungs. My chest. It hurts so much. I can't hold my breath any longer. I shut my eyes tight against the darkness of the water. I must be strong. Hold it in, Owen. Hold it in. This is your life. This is all that's left of your life. 

My life. My waste of a life.

~~

Someone's lifting the rock underneath me. I can feel my body instinctively float upward. Am I going to make it? Before I even reach the surface, my body gives out. I breathe in some water. As soon as the semi-cold air blows across my wet face again, I cough and sputter. I can feel someone grabbing my head and trying to keep it above water. 

"Keep his head up!" I hear a familiar voice whisper fiercely.

"Toss me the knife!"

Who is that? Who's there on the shore? What's holding my feet up?

Don't worry about it. Just breathe.

Whoever had their hands on my head now left me. I can barely register in my oxygen-deprived brain that he's dove under water.  In a matter of seconds, another person reaches the surface. He replaces the other by grasping my shoulders and trying to keep my head up.

"Owen, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

I open my eyes. My blurry vision can barely make out the outline of the man's face. It sounds like Aiden though. But that's impossible. He's miles away, isn't he? "Yeah, I hear you," I mumble, finding a pain in my throat where I had choked on water. "Get me the hell out of here."

"He's okay," Aiden called to shore. The person there whoops joyfully.

Peg. That's Peg. I can see her grin. She looks around. "There is more light ahead. I'm going down the river to check it out."

"No," I gasp out. "Jealousani…"

"Is she in trouble?" Aiden asks darkly. It's too late. Peg is gone. Someone has to warn her that Jealousani's the bad guy! Er, bad girl. 

Could things possibly get any worse? "No, she's the one who—"

Aiden growls. "I knew it. I _knew_ it!" 

Before I can warn him not to tell me the "don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you" speech, I feel the rope around my ankles loosen. I kick my feet furiously while Crown pops up for a breath of air. He sputters a bit as well, and dives back down to cut my wrists loose. Aiden continues to hold me up while my arms are incapacitated. 

"Go help Peg!" I tell Aiden as I feel the tight binding around my wrists come off. Crown surfaces. 

A loud gunshot sounds in the distance. We three freeze exactly where we were, staring in the direction the loud noise came from. Aiden is the first to snap out of it. He swims over the side and hauls himself out of the river. Crown swims with me, helping me get out as well. 

"Please tell me she has a gun," Crown groans, referring to Peg.

"I'm pretty sure neither Jealousani nor I had one," I answer. "But Peg…"

"Peg isn't particularly handy with a gun in the darkness," her cousin confesses. 

Crap.

"Go, go, go!" I yell. We run at top speed with just their flashlights lighting the way. "How the hell did you guys get here anyway?" I ask as we run. "It should have taken you just as much time as it took me!"

"Crown stole the company's snowmobiles after your first message."

"Only because Aiden here was going ballistic!"

"I didn't _ask_ you to steal those! Major Brant is going to kill us when we get back."

"Not if we get the gold," I cut in. "Jealousani's a gold digger! Her people have infiltrated Group C and she found a large ore of gold in here! That's why she tried to kill me!"

Crown winced in imaginary pain. "Ouch, man. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Yeah, well, that makes the two of us then."

We slow down as we reach the large chamber. I don't hear either of the girls at the top of the ledge. This is scary.  I move forward, whispering for Crown to get the gold. Indeed, in the time I was slowly drowning, Jealousani had rigged a pulley system over another ledge and had been about to lower a bulging knapsack of gold when Peg probably surprised her. 

Aiden and I stealthily climb the ledge on one side while Crown went up another way. We silently pray that Jealousani is not waiting up there to blow our heads off. I reach the top first. I take a deep breath and throw myself up over the edge.

A gun clicks, as it is being cocked and pointed in my direction. I feel my chest muscles tighten like I'm going to have a heart attack. Peg sighs when she sees it is only I and turns her gun back to the bleeding form of Jealousani. She's shot in the leg, I see. Well serves her right! After trying to kill me, that greedy bitch deserves it! Ha!

"Are you okay?" Peg asks me.

"Dandy," I reply. "Hey, Peg? Sorry about all this. I shouldn't have trusted her so fast. Or else none of us would be in this mess."

"Hey, it's better that we got involved instead of someone else in our group. He probably wouldn't have had the friends to help him out." She smiles at me so forgivingly. For some reason, I see her in a totally different light. How come I never noticed that Peg was this… wonderful before? It's some kind of wonderful. I can't describe it. 

Whoa, Owen. Down, boy. This one around, take your time. You don't want to foul things up, do you?

"Peg?"

"Yeah?"

"When we get back, would you mind if you and I just hung out for dinner. You know, just… us?"

Her excitement is apparent in the way her eyes lit up, but she tries to play it off. "That sounds okay."

"Okay," I nod back.

"Yeah. Okay."

The only other person watching rolls his eyes. Aiden walks over to Jealousani, who knows she is beaten. She allows him to check her wound, knowing that trying to subdue him would only lead her to greater pain. After all, she was just a gold digger. Aiden was practically a one-man army. With that, she silently seethes. I would too if I were a greedy gold digger foiled by a handful of unorthodox DJPF officers. 

Crown is now on the ledge as well. He inspects the large sack filled with gold. "Wow. This is a lot of gold. I mean… wow."

"Wow, huh?" Aiden comments, adding onto Crown's astounded one-word stupor. He begins dressing the wound where Jealousani was shot in the leg. 

Peg and I laugh. From somewhere behind me, I hear a growl. An _animal_ growl. 

"What the hell is that?" I hear Peg squeak.

"Oh wonderful," I hear Aiden mutter.

I turn around and come face to face with a beast that I'd never seen before. Peg ducks behind me. I stand, completely frozen to the spot. The animal before me looked like a wolf on steroids. No kidding. It was as tall as my waist and had emphasized and over-grown jaws. Probably used to snap at huge prey. Its snowy white color was flecked with dirt and water it probably got from bounding up the side of the ledge.

"And you didn't warn us?" I hiss at Aiden.

"I didn't see it!" he hissed back.

Stay still, Owen. Stay completely still. Uh-oh. White Fang here has his teeth bared. Not good. This is just like out of the frying pan and into the fire. I can deal with Jealousani, but this? _This_?

"Here boy!"

Oh, hell. Crown, you idiot.

I turn around. Crown has one arm intertwined with the rope and the other holding out a large amount of meat rations. The rest of us stare at him, including Jealousani. He is a mad man.

"What do you think you're doing?" Aiden asks.

"The scientists warned us that we'd probably run into hostile new species up here. I always go prepared!" he says, rather cheerfully for someone who just made himself bait. 

The wolf creature doesn't seem impressed. I think he's hungrier for Crown's limb than his food offering. I slowly back away with Peg still right behind me. Crown continues to wave his hands and draw attention to him. I can see Aiden out of the corner of my eyes, cursing under his breath. 

"He's not coming fast enough," Crown mumbles and picks up a rock. 

Oh, no. No, no, no. Crown, you _idiot_.

He throws the rock at the wolf. It hits the creature square between the eyes. I can't tell you enough right now how much I want to be anywhere but here.  It automatically growls and snaps its jaws. Peg cries out as the monster charges her cousin at full speed.  I hold my breath. I don't know what else to do. I know I can't wrestle that thing, nor stop it. 

Crown grins as the wolf nears. Before I know what's happening, Crown runs and leaps from the ledge, swinging on the rope. The wolf-creature blindly jumps, believing it can snap its jaws tight around the nimble man's body as it swings up. I can hear someone yell—I think it is Peg again. 

"Woo hook!" Crown whoops as the wolf misses by a few inches and plummets down to the pool below. 

I can't believe that just happened.

The death-defying friend before me loops his leg around the rope and puts most of his weight on that leg as he peers down. He tucks a lock of blond hair behind his small ears and laughs. "Well would you imagine that? The big thing can't swim!"

How the hell can he laugh so carelessly?

"Crown, are you okay?" Aiden shouts, running up to the edge of the ledge. Jealousani is forgotten for the moment. It isn't like she can go anywhere. Peg and I likewise run to Aiden's side and watch Crown swing back in forth in mid-air. 

"That was fun. You guys should try it," he answers. When he sees how shocked and worried all three of us are, he tones down his cheeriness and begins to get serious. "Hey, it did work, didn't it?"

"You could have been killed, you… you dummy!" Aiden shouts, even louder than before. I'd never seen Aiden get upset before. I suppose it's because _I_ almost died. And _Peg_ could have died when she went after Jealousani. And _Crown_ could have died just then as well. It's good to know that Aiden isn't so stoic and perfect that he actually shows distress like this. It shows that he cares.

Crown, now properly scolded, starts swinging the rope with his weight, trying to get back to the ledge. When he gets within range, Aiden grabs the rope and pulls him in. Crown untangles his arm and leg from the rope and drops down gracefully onto the ledge again. Peg hugs him first, and then punches him in the shoulder. She yells at him for worrying her so much. She complains that he's the only family she can actually tolerate.

I pull Peg away so she doesn't overwhelm her cousin. I suggest to her that we ought to page for help and a medic for our prisoner, who still sits frumpily neglected with her gunshot wound. 

"Hey, we got gold, and we can warn Group C that their baggage people have been infiltrated with gold diggers."

"I still doubt that Major Brant lets us off the hook for stealing the snowmobiles."

I tap her nose with my finger. "Hey, he's the least of our worries now. I have something else on my mind."

"Oh, is that right?" she replies teasingly.

"Uh-huh."

She moves closer. Over my shoulder, I can hear Jealousani snort. I push her out of my thoughts and likewise move closer to Peg.

"If you _ever_ do that again, I'll… I'll…"

Aaaawww! Why do there have to be so many interruptions?

I look past Peg at Aiden and Crown. Aiden certainly does seem more flustered than usual. Hell, I've never seen him flustered, period. He voices his stress and worries at the younger man, who takes it all in stride. In fact, Crown puts a hand on Aiden's shoulder and squeezes.

"I'm _fine_. Okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"I just said I was, didn't I?"

"Damn it! Why can't you just be… be…"

"Be what?" he asks.

They stare at each other for a lengthy amount of time. An abnormally long time. A really abnormally long amount of time. I frown. I wonder what's wrong with them.

"Peg?" I ask. She hadn't even turned to look as I had.

"Owen."

"Um… Why are Crown and Aiden acting weird?"

"Owen. Think. Think really hard."

I blink. And then:

Oh.

_Oh_.

She puts one finger under my chin and pushes my jaw up so my gaping mouth closes. "Hey, didn't you say you had something else on your mind?"

I laugh nervously. "Oh yeah."

She tilts her face up and closes her eyes, waiting expectantly. He leans in for the win… and _score_! Owen Jesslaw on the most interesting, if not luckiest, day of his life.

~~

…So as you see, Kel, fate works in really weird ways. I'm not sure if I'm lucky or not. I mean, I don't think it matters any more. I'm having a jolly good time. As soon as I get back, Peg and I will take a vacation and you can meet her. She's a great girl. I think you'll like her. As for the issue with my tent mates Crown and Aiden. Well, let's just say sharing a tent with them is bound to be a load of laughs now that it's all out in the open. 

_Take care! _

_Love always,_

Owen 

~~

 Kel laughed. That had been one of the more interesting anecdotes she'd ever read. She looked forward to seeing Owen again and meeting his new girlfriend. They sounded absolutely perfect for each other. She missed him so much. After all, they spent the most troublesome years of life together: the school years.

She had the right mind to call Neal up and reminisce. But he was probably tired and he needed rest. He was just about ready to go off the painkillers and be back at work. Dom certainly expressed his growing weariness of tending to his God Brother's needs. And Kel was certain that Wyldon had been given too big a break from Neal's service. 

There was nothing to do after that. She'd read her mail. Her dishes were washed. Her house was clean. She had already done all the work at the station that she'd needed to. If something came up, Flyndon would page her and have her deal with it. But until then, her time was free to do what she wished.

She was actually very surprised that she hadn't fallen asleep during the reading of Owen's mail. The excitement of receiving a letter from one of her dearest friends had been caffeine to her body. She needed to burn off the extra energy now. 

The practice mats she kept were rolled up in the closet. There was enough room on her living room for to do crunches and similar exercises. There was not, however, room enough for her to practice any fighting moves, like her instructors at the Academy had taught her. She wished there was room, but no. 

_I can take the mats to the bottom level of the garage and practice there. No one would see._

With her mind set on that, Keladry changed into a sleeveless white T-shirt, and a pair of sweat pants. Her rattiest old sneakers were begging to be used from the corner of her closet, so she put those on, too. She carried the rolled up mats under one arm and left her apartment. A message at her buzzer would say she was in the garage if anyone needed to find her. 

Downstairs, in the lower level of the garage, Keladry was much more at peace with herself than she had been all day. There was something about losing yourself in the physical motions that just took away all thought, and nourished her with instinct. It hurt—the training, but pushing past barriers of pain made it feel non-existent after a while. You just worked harder and harder, so that by the time you stopped, you felt ten times better than you ever imagined you could. 

After half an hour, she was already winded. She'd forgotten how intense the workouts used to be. She had sorely missed doing them everyday, like she had when she was in the Academy. She missed Eda Bell and Hakuin Seastone from Tortall. They always had her winded in ten minutes. Well, Eda did. Hakuin liked to slack off now and then. He was better than he let on, though. 

She leaned against a garage support made of concrete. She was glad there were very few cars that day on the bottom level. She preferred it if no one came down to see her. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm, feeling sticky and sweaty all over. She bet she smelled, too. It didn't matter. She'd had a good workout, and was blissfully tired enough to curl up in comforters and sleep like she had originally planned. 

She took a moment to consider Owen's letter. Obviously, looks could be deceiving.  Jealousani had turned out to be someone completely different than Owen had thought.  It was so easy to trust someone, but what if that person betrayed you in the end? Was it worth trusting someone else?

Keladry knew that it would be hard to just stop trusting. Your heart turned cold and cruel. She'd seen it happen before.

"Hey, Mindelan. I'm borrowing your bike."

_Speak of the Devil,_ she thought. She turned to face Joren. He wore his usual black T-shirt and jeans. She was very sure that he didn't own anything of color unless it was blood red. It reminded her of Batman for some reason. She shrugged off the thought as Cleon's influence and pushed off the concrete she was leaning against.

"Where's yours?"

"Under some work."

_When isn't it under some work?_

"Oh. Okay."

He approached her. "So what are you doing down here? Aerobics?"

Her hair stood on end. _Did he just call my fighting arts _aerobics_?_ _Oh, he's going down._ "No, actually, I'm not. I'm training. So I can kick the butts of people like you."

"Like you could," Joren scoffed.

Keladry folded her arms across her chest. "That sounds like a challenge. I accept."

This time, her partner laughed. He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "This was certainly the last thing I expected to hear today." He stretched his arms behind his head. "But if you insist, Mindelan. Sure, why not."

After the last year of wishing, Keladry could finally show him just _who_ he'd been messing with. He wasn't low enough to try and distract her the same embarrassing (although breathtaking) way he normally did. Not here, not now. He thought he was such a bad ass. Well, he was about to see how wrong he was about _that_.

She walked onto the mat. By the time she turned around again, not only had he taken his place on the mat, he'd also tossed his removed T-shirt to the side. He reminded her briefly of marble statues from ancient times. His skin was almost as pale as the marble. The only flaws were the many scars, shades darker in their odd tissue formations.  When she lifted her eyebrows in a questioning expression, he merely smirked.

"Don't be flattered, Mindelan. I have somewhere to be after this and I'd rather not get your sweat on my clothing." His gaze swept once over her whole figure. She self-consciously looked down at herself. Sweat had indeed soaked through her shirt and had formed a spot in the middle of her back and on the front right under her sports bra. 

She took her stance as well, positioning her feet the way she had been taught. She calmed her anxious heart and tried to obtain a state of peace. She needed focus. Yes, lots of concentration was needed while her opponent was distracting her with his body.

_I bet the jerk is doing it intentionally. Don't lower yourself to his level._

"Are you ready?" he asked impatiently.

_I've **been** ready. I'm going to get back at you for every bad thing you've ever done to me._

 "Bring it on."

She waited for him to move but one inch forward before she darted in his direction, faster than him. She threw two well-placed punches, one at his abdomen, the other aiming for his chin. He seemed to be choosing to block some blows rather than others, because he held up his arms over his face to block, but absorbed the hit to his abdomen. She didn't know what his strategy was, but she wasn't about to give him a chance to use it.

Keladry eyed his shoulder suspiciously. He no longer wore the large bandages, but just a large adhesive bandage over it with some medical tape to keep it in place.  While she continued to execute other attacks, she noticed that he didn't move like he was injured there. That bothered her. She wanted to find a weak spot in him and hit it with a hammer, figuratively speaking. 

She did a roundhouse kick, which he blocked and even caught her ankle in. She put her hands on the mat and kicked with both feet instead, shaking him off with damage done to his wrists. Then she flipped back to a standing position. They began pacing in a circle, trying to keep moving at all times. 

"I'm waiting."

"Oh, shut up!" she yelled and attacked him with another barrage of punches and kicks.  He blocked most, and other blows found their mark, causing him to stumble back. She relished in the feeling that he had only landed one punch to her cheek the whole entire time.

_Why does he take that defensive position anyway?_ She thought that he pitied her, but then considering his personality, she counted the possibility out. It would be so much easier if he would attack first. She could exert less energy by using his momentum to hurt him. Keladry, in a sudden surge of resentment, struck him in the chest hard and fast.

Joren exhaled sharply as he absorbed the hit and moved out of range again. He fixed his gaze on her; through every motion each of them took, his eyes were glued to hers as if he could read her thoughts that way. Keladry wouldn't let her guard down. He wouldn't intimidate her. She wouldn't let that happen. Too many years of practice and too many months of insult would refuse to let that happen.

The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of flesh impacting on flesh, panting, and sounds of someone grimacing in pain. Keladry threw everything she had at him. She could see he was starting to cave in, and she certainly hammered away at the proverbial cracks of his defensive wall. He continued to block most of her hits, but refrained from attacking her himself. He didn't seem to be fast enough to attack at all. Keladry was faster.  She'd trained her whole life to be faster.

_Remember what Eda and Hakuin went over with you. Knock him out before he even knows what's going on._

She growled softly after he successfully remained standing after a hard high kick she'd given him. "What the hell is with you?"

"You never heard of stamina?"

_His 'stamina' isn't human. He should be down for the count by now! First, the resilience of his body is superhuman, then this? Does that quality also extend to his endurance too then?_

She clenched her fists tighter and tried to take deeper breaths. After lengthy consideration, she decided to use desperate methods. She charged and tackled him with the intent of pinning him underneath her. She was successful in that venture, though her sore muscles strained in the effort. She straddled his stomach but dug her heels into his thighs, and then caught both his wrists by his sides. He grimaced as his head hit the mat.

"I guess this means I've won," she said triumphantly. A rush of pure goodness swept through her. All her work had paid off. She couldn't care less what happened the next day, or the day after that. Her victory could be rubbed in his face for the rest of eternity. She wanted to hang a banner on the front of the building that said "Joren Stone Loses" and celebrate for years on end. The triumph was exquisite. 

He didn't seem to mind his loss. He looked a bit bruised and tired, but not necessarily disappointed. Seeing his apathetic expression took away some of the pleasure of her win. If he hadn't been breathing hard, she would have accused him of throwing the fight. Though, she couldn't find any reasons that he'd want to throw the fight.

"You seem a little confused, Mindelan. You _did_ win."

"Yeah. I know."

"Well, can I get your fat ass off of me?"

She released his wrists and folded her arms across her chest. She took the insult calmly. "You know what? It doesn't even matter what you say now. Because I've won."

"Yeah, that's been made quite clear."

"I. Beat. You." She emphasized each word by poking him in the chest with her finger.

"Alright, you've said that already."

"You're mad, aren't you?" she asked with a grin.

He laughed. "No. Definitely no."

She frowned. Why would he be so happy then?

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt anything!"

Kel froze. Her heart nearly skipped a beat. She gulped before turning her head to look at the new arrival over her shoulder. A familiar man stood in front of the stairway, holding up his hands in apology. She groaned inwardly.

"Ulliver?"

The SWAT team major stepped backwards and put his hand on the rail. "Hey! It's okay. I was going to borrow Murphy's car, but I can go up one level and borrow someone else's."

She cursed. "This isn't what it looks like!"

"Oh, honey. That hurts," Joren said from beneath her, a sadistic smile on his face. Keladry looked down and realized that his hands and crept up to her hips to make a very compromising position. Not to mention, his shirt was still discarded.

"I'll be going now," Ulliver laughed nervously and ran at full speed back up the steps. Keladry closed her eyes and tried very hard not to scream. He had actually shown some interest in her the last time they met in the halls of the apartment complex. She had hoped to see him again for coffee, since he'd broken up with his girlfriend and had even been less sarcastic than when they were at Mithran United when they met this morning. 

She heard a clucking sound of a tongue. "Tsk, tsk. Are we blushing Mindelan? Or are you still celebrating your victory?"

"You're such an asshole!" she yelled at him.

"You know, I kind of like this position. All sweaty and breathing hard, too."

Her mouth dropped open. "You are so perverted!"

She tried to get up, but his grip on her hips didn't allow her to. "Please. You know you love it when I fuck with your mind."

"You _wish_."

"Oh I don't have to. I think our last few encounters already prove my point."

She crossed her arms once again over her chest. "Well it doesn't matter because I won today."

"Ha! _You_ wish!" Before she could react, he flipped them over and pinned her down, holding her hands above her head. She cried out in shock and outrage, but he didn't budge. She now knew that he'd been conserving all his energy by taking a defensive position during their brawl. 

Keladry blew her bangs out of her face and glared up at her captor. She bit back a snarl. "Why me? Why always me?"

Joren leaned down and licked a salty bead of sweat off her collarbone. She shivered involuntarily. How did he think to do these things to her? It just didn't make sense how someone like him could flip moods back and forth so quickly. To answer her question, he continued to talk as he glided his lips across her neck.

"Three reasons. One, you're not as prissy and hopeless as some brainless females in this pathetic world. Two," he punctuated this reason by snickering, "Though you've got the 'independent woman' thing going on, you would never," a light nibble, "_ever_," another snicker, "tell anyone and get me in trouble. You're a wimp that way, Mindelan. Too bad, so sad."

He released her wrists and sat up, smiling maliciously. She leaned on her elbows, flustered and pissed off. 

"The third, you asshole?"

"I need something to vent the boredom. Up until now, I'd find new ways to work on the bike. Now, there's not much left for the Black Knight." He began tracing patterns on her abdomen. "You're fun to mess with. You know that."

She groaned. "I liked you better when you never spoke to anyone and just locked yourself in the garage all the time. Can't we go back to that?"

He dipped forward and caught her mouth in his own, forcing her lips open so his tongue could slide in. She remained absolutely still so as not to give him the satisfaction of her response. She was simply too angry with him to succumb to his mind games, which were becoming more and more frequent—she noticed.

He stopped when he noticed it wasn't working. He got up and retrieved his shirt, tugging it back over his head and fitting his arms through the sleeves. Keladry, all of a sudden overcome by depression and listlessness, stayed lying down on the mat, staring at the ceiling. Joren rolled his eyes, mouthing the word 'weirdo' though she couldn't see.

"You did win today, you know."

"Wooptie freakin' doo."

He snorted. "You've got problems, Mindelan."

"So do you."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Um… nope, I'd tell you that you were a complete bastard, but you _do_ already know that." She turned to regard him with bored half-lidded eyes. He shrugged.

"At least I'm not late for an emergency contact by Flyndon."

She lifted her head. "Huh?"

"Pager."

She looked at her wrist. "Oh _crap!_"

~~

Author: So, here we are, months later. I'm so very sorry I took so long. You must understand that school sucks very much for me right now. Not to mention that my JV boat is in a slump right now. Haven't medalled all season. I have a feeling it will take another three years to complete ICBW through its four planned seasons. At the pace I'm going, maybe five. Would you guys be there? Even after Kel's quartet ends?

I didn't want a Joren/Kel scene this episode, but considering that I'd deprived you for months, I ought to have fueled the monthly Joren/Kel fix. So, tell me what you think. My e-mail is at top. Until next time! Remember to rrreevvviiieewww!


	8. Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part I

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 8:**

**Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part I**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. The song in here is "Make Me Bad" by Korn.

I've switched the rating back to R. BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…) as well as serious adult themes!  I want everyone to know I don't advocate smoking or tobacco use of any kind. Neither do I advocate drinking or any other sort of shady activity featured in this story. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. Thanks!**

~~

With all things accounted for, she finally proclaimed it as 'The Day That Wouldn't End.' The sun was starting to look a little dull behind the scarce clouds. The sky reflected more yellow pigments than blue so that it appeared as if a leprechaun's golden mist had been sprayed everywhere. A rainbow had a good chance of making a cameo that day.

She went to the garage after paying the taxi driver, wondering if Cleon and Neal had returned with the squad car they were issued. Their parking space remained empty. The female DJPF officer easily resisted the urge to groan as she trudged through the garage on her way to the elevator. She'd just come back from her emergency meeting with Flyndon. They were receiving very ambiguous clues from random street thugs on the recent string of bank robberies, which had thrown the whole Tusaine DJPF into frenzy. She stifled a yawn and entered the elevator, blindly groping for the up button as she blinked her eyes.

"Tired from our tussle, I imagine," a familiar voice said from behind her. 

Keladry opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder in her blankly indifferent way that more than a year ago, used to become her. Now it was a forced effort. She found herself tensing the muscles in her jaw so as not to show any emotion. "Would you lay off, Stone?"

"I don't take orders from you, Mindelan," Joren replied. 

Keladry decided to engage in passing banter, if she could change the subject. "Why do you hate Liam?"

He shrugged. "Why do I hate anyone for that matter?"

Ah. Yes. That would make sense. Perhaps his hate was totally general after all. "But still," she pursued the matter. "You show a lot more spine when you talk to him than when you insult, say, Faleron. And I wish you'd just leave Liam alone."

He gazed at her pityingly. "You have no idea of what you're getting yourself into, Mindelan."

The automated bell sound went off the appropriate number of times to indicate the floor level. Keladry did not hesitate to walk out, with him calmly following her. "I am not getting myself into anything," she insisted. "You're the one tricking me into embarrassing situations."

"Is it really my fault that you respond the way you do?" he asked in a low, purposely husky voice.

She spotted the trap a mile away. "No, but all the sick twisted pleasure you take in messing with my head is on your conscience. You'll get yours, Stone."

"Ooh. A threat. I'm so scared."

They stood just outside the elevator, two silent figures anticipating the next move of the other. It was chess with words and expressions as their pawns and rooks. If one could only topple the king…

"Your friends' influence is wearing off," he commented dryly.

She tilted her head slightly. "How can you tell?"

"No girlish outbursts while I insult you. You're being very controlled and calm."

"Perhaps I'm too tired to raise up a fuss," she answered. "Besides, I think the whole world would benefit if _you_ turned back into your old self, whoever _he_ was."

She hoped her dignity here threw his position as harasser out the window. If she had turned to look at him, she would have noticed a shadow falling across his features. Her partner half closed his eyes to recall something from the back of his mind. Bothered by his silence, Keladry did finally glance at him. Words could not come to her. It was difficult to yell at someone who looked like he was walking toward his jail cell. She stuck out her lower lip in a defiant pout and walked away from him. She entered her room seconds later while Joren continued on to his.

His feet lifted and moved forward, one step after another, without his acknowledging it. The subconscious regions of his mind guided him to his door, where he stopped.

"My old self? She has no idea of what she's getting into. Absolutely no idea," he whispered to himself, not even thinking of his partner in the least. He went through the motions of reaching for the keypad of his door and entering the apartment. 

_"They call themselves gods."_

Joren blinked. Those words were imprinted on the back of his mind. He could still remember the voice of the speaker and the severity of his expression. He could still recall the exact place he was standing when he'd been told. He could even envision how he had been standing. One hand in his right pants pocket, the other holding a paper up to his face. Everything that morning had been so unexpected. 

He forced himself to concentrate on his breathing. Inhale and exhale—that was the way to go. He had to slow his heartbeat so he could feel the things around him with serenity. Serenity had never been one of his more present qualities. It fled him the majority of the time, and the remaining personality was callous and tense, shielded by an impenetrable wall of scorn. He liked walls. He liked knowing his limits of what he could and could not do. It was a constant in a mathematical equation that explained Joren's existence in their universe.

_"They call themselves gods."_

The little nymph of serenity fled with its light wings through the door. He closed his eyes tightly, wondering why it hurt to see through them so suddenly.

_"Gods."_

Why now? Why did the memories have to resurface now?

The blond biker sank onto his couch and sank into the dreaded past.

~~

Five years ago:

"They call themselves gods. If I were them, I'd probably say the same." 

Joren looked up from the actual piece of paper he held in his hand. It was acid-free, blinding white paper—not that recyclable plastic crap that annoyed him so much. He set down the paper on the black desk in front of him. Members of a notorious crime syndicate were listed on the paper, as well as some of their common stats. The man speaking was beating around the bush, though. Joren had no idea what was going on.

The door to the shady office opened. A short but muscular woman walked in. She wore a gray feminine suit and large bronze earrings dangled from her ears. The way she carried herself, a man knew better than to mess with her. She frowned with dark lips when she saw Joren and the other man.

"What are you doing here, Paxton?"

Paxton Nond bowed his head courteously to the tan-skinned woman. "Myles sent me, Buri. Don't get mad."

Buri set down her briefcase. Her eyes fell upon the paper Joren had been holding. "About this? I was wondering when Myles was going to get back to me on that."

"Yup. And I'm your answer," Paxton replied. He was a lanky man perhaps of his early forties, with a receding hairline. His sandy blond hair had obviously dark roots, and almost unnoticeable freckles dotted the bridge of his nose. His skin was tanned and he had laugh wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. At the moment, he wore a black turtleneck and black slacks. He stood over Joren by half a head.

She seemed to approve. "Then what is he doing here?" She inclined her head toward Joren. "Hmm?"

Paxton looked over at the younger man, who was 19 years old—almost a year out of the academy, and yet so experienced and professional. Under Wyldon's advisory and Buri's guidance, he'd gone far beyond many people's capabilities at his age. Perhaps it was his stoic dedication that brought him thus far. Or sheer will…

"I'm getting old, Buri. That's obvious. I can't play the parts I need to play," Paxton began. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, but he plunged forward into a more ambitious attitude. "Wyldon told me about this Golden Boy. He'll be perfect for the job."

"Are you suggesting that he replaces you--?" Buri asked, startled. 

"No!" Paxton protested. "He'd come _with_ me. He's already had some experience in this sort of thing before. Not full scale, like me, but he has done _some_ things, correct? He'd make an excellent addition to this operation. He's just the right type. No one will suspect him."

Joren hated to be talked about as if he weren't in the room. When he saw the still disapproving expression on his superior's face, he cleared his throat. "You don't think I can do it, Buri?"

The woman muttered a curse. "You have no idea of what you're getting yourself into, Stone. It's your choice."

Joren could feel Paxton's judging gaze upon him. He lifted his chin a centimeter higher and locked his eyes on Buri's own. "If I have no idea, then tell me the conditions."

She sighed. A single glance to Paxton expressed 'This-is-all-your-fault'. She moved the paper aside on her desk and sat down on the corner. She folded her arms across her chest and recalled every detail of the conditions that he would have to know. "All your personal belongings will be kept in a high security storage facility and will be restored to you on your return—_if _you return. All your personal information that is archived anywhere in the world will be suspended and hidden in confidential terminals. Your name will not exist anywhere, even outside of this country." She paused. "If during that time you must enter a facility such as a hospital or a DJPF station, you are to use your pseudo name. Don't give the hospital a chance to get a blood sample. Doesn't even matter if you're poisoned. No sample." 

At this moment, she chose to direct her gaze toward Paxton, who had reclined in a chair. He nodded for her to continue.

"In the event that you are caught in a criminal situation with the suspects you were sent to monitor, the DJPF will not recognize you as one of their own and will treat you as a suspect. If you are arrested, all suspended information on you will be deleted and you will be dealt the same punishment as the rest, under your pseudo name. Even I will be bound to deny knowing you, if called up to a witness stand." She finished with a regretful voice, but shrugged it off as quickly as she could. "Do you accept these terms, Joren?"

He looked to Paxton again, wondering if that older man had once been presented with this same choice in the same way as he had. If this man could survive years of doing this, why couldn't he? Joren was capable of being a spy's protégé. It wasn't like anyone would miss him. He could easily disappear and no one would notice, or even assume anything more than that he'd moved away.

"I accept."

He half expected a bodiless voice from above to say: "Your fate is sealed", but no such thing happened. Joren realized Paxton was holding out his hand to him. He shook hands with the man whom he was to accompany in the operation, whatever _it _was.

All the information he'd received so far was pretty vague. Paxton had contacted him that morning, affiliating himself with Buri and Wyldon—though Joren had not seen Wyldon in little less than a year.  He'd begun by introducing himself as Agent Paxton Nond. The word 'agent' alone indicated that Paxton was a part of the shadier, less known-about part of the DJPF. Joren had been intrigued. The line of work sounded promising.

"Would you like to brief him, Buri?" Joren's new employer asked.

She shook her head. "He's all yours now. When do you expect to begin?"

"There's a series of races going on Friday night. We'll start then," Paxton answered. He noticed Joren's attention perk up. "And yes, Joren, before you ask. I did choose you because of your extensive qualification with bikes and other motor vehicles in general."

Joren nodded. He was not just a protégé; his skills were indeed very useful to his new employer. The feeling of being perfect for the job helped to scrub away uncertainty, if there had been any. Joren did not like uncertainty. Many things in his life had been decided, based on dubious uncertainty. 

Buri, in the meantime, cautiously observed him. He'd performed very well as long as he had been under her supervision. She still couldn't believe that a person so young could adapt so easily to a life as demanding as his. She thought briefly of a childhood wasted, a picked flower that had yet to bud—sentenced to die in a vase on someone's kitchen table. 

"I'm not likely to see you for a very long time, Joren. Not me or anyone else… You might want to say goodbye to the Riders while they're in town. They came back from Corus today."

He'd forgotten she was still there. Joren shifted his weight to his other foot. "I might."

She nodded. "Alright then. Keep your eyes open and alert." 

"I'm not a cadet, Buri. You don't have to tell me that."

Her fingers strayed to the desktop and started tracing imaginary shapes. "I know. But still. You've got your whole life ahead of you and there's no sense in you dying over something stupid that you forgot from your training."

The corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "My training for this ended before I even took one step on Mithran soil."

~~

"Pack your life into two duffel bags. I'll call you tomorrow," Paxton informed him as they stood in the open parking lot of the DJPF Government Housing. Somewhere overhead, a bird twittered a song that was sharp in both their ears. Joren couldn't see what there was to be singing about. Animals always knew something that humans didn't, which gave animals eternal happiness while man suffered the turmoil of his own wretchedness.

"Any specific items?"

"Your motorcycle gear and tools… the big guns. And when I say that, I'm not talking about the damn .9 mm Berettas. I heard from unnamed sources you got yourself some nice toys. The latest versions of Desert Eagles, maybe? An Uzi wouldn't be so bad right now either." He paused. "I don't think I should have to mention for you not to bring any DJPF issued clothing. No Hyperion Bands, no casual uniform or field uniform. Leave your pager in the boxes that you'll place in storage. I'll take care of the rest."

Joren snorted. "Should I be doing the Beatnik color code, too?"

Paxton glanced down at himself and smiled ruefully. "Whatever looks good on ya. Our first stop will be at Hattie's. She hooks the operatives up with the clothing and accessories we'll need."

"So I should assume we're showing up as either new hot-heads looking for some action, or some common thugs?"

"Later, later. Don't forget your damn helmet and get out of my sight already." He waved Joren off impatiently and took a cigarette from a box in his pants pocket. He removed a lighter from his opposite pocket and proceeded to light it up. Joren took his cue to leave. He then approached the door to the apartment lobby, then to the elevator. 

The doors to the elevator were about to close when someone yelled, "Wait for me!"

Joren rolled his eyes and pressed the button that would keep the doors open. A young man not too many years older than Joren ran up, panting. He slowed down as he reached the elevator's threshold and stepped cautiously inside. His broad shoulders rose up and down as his chest still heaved from the run down the hallway. 

"Thanks, man." The newcomer straightened up. "So Punk Ass, what's up? I haven't seen you around in a while."

"Maybe that's because you weren't in town. Don't be such an idiot, Dom," Joren grated, miffed at having to share elevator space with the man next to him. The doors closed and they began their ascent to the third floor. 

"Well, sssooorrry. I had no idea you would be this grumpy today. Raoul is talking to Buri right now, but if you want, you can meet him later." He shrugged. "I know how you've been trying to squirm out of Buri's range of vision. Raoul's trips are mostly a pain in the butt, but they'll get you away, man."

"No, I won't be hanging around the rag tags anymore."

Dom scrunched up his face, obviously offended. "Well, fine, why don't you just say 'fuck you' and get it over with?"

"You said it, not me," Joren replied, keeping his cool while Dom's face turned crimson. He was always secretly amused at this.

"Like we would have wanted you anyway. Raoul got a new guy. His name is a Qasim—he's a mechanic, too. He's probably better than you. And it's not like Prosper or Seaver give a crap about you. The four of us are all that Raoul needs to be in the Riders' Own." Whether Qasim possessed greater mechanical skills than Joren wasn't the point. It was Dom's revenge for Joren's indifference, which was an insult to Dom. Some how, he knew that his words didn't affect Joren the way that he wished. In fact, he knew it only made himself seem more childish. 

Joren smirked as they walked out of the elevator. Both of their rooms were situated at the end of the hall. He took pride in his infinite patience for flustered smart alecks. He could lose his temper with criminals, but harmless twits like Dom weren't worth the effort to become angry. 

Dom didn't say anything for a few moments, and then spoke, acknowledging his verbal defeat. "So, why won't you be around anymore?"

"I can't say, buddy." The little colloquialisms such as 'buddy' and 'dude' sometimes spouted from his mouth—a side effect from spending time with Dom.

"What, you're getting court-marshaled or something?" Dom asked, semi-serious. There were only so many things that he could imagine Joren having to leave for. As far as he knew, Joren had no family to visit. He had no close friends, no girlfriend. Dom nor anyone else in the T District had ever seen Joren associate with anyone outside of their close work force. 

Joren had never liked people's attempts to befriend him. But he knew he needed allies, so he permitted their presence around him. They were good for a laugh. He always felt that the naivety they possessed for life made him obligated to linger around… make sure they didn't do something stupid, like children. He didn't like children. He was never a child. People would argue it, but he knew that he was never a child. 

"So?" 

He stopped in front of his door. "I'll tell you later. Don't tell anyone else that I'm leaving, okay?"

"Um, sure. Whatever, man."

Joren nodded and entered his apartment. He left Dom standing there, confused, but intrigued. Of all the Riders, Joren supposed that Dom was the least troublesome. He never gave up trying to be Joren's friend, but he acknowledged certain barricades, such as the topic of his past. 

Looking around at the emptiness of his apartment, Joren marched toward his closet. He opened the door and dragged out an empty duffel bag with the toe of his foot. Then he reached up to the shelf to remove a couple of metal briefcases. They were heavy, and he had to balance both of them before he lowered his arms. He steadied himself and brought the cases down. Next he lifted up his leg and leaned his knee against the wall so his thigh was parallel to the floor. Resting the briefcases on half his lap, he proceeded to unlock the top one and pop up the latches. 

"It's been a while," he remarked to himself.

He opened the case and touched the foam padding inside, surrounding the components to his sniping equipment. He didn't know if he would need it, but Paxton said that he wanted Joren's best. And if he wanted his best, he was going to get it. Joren shut the case again and set it down on the floor. Then he walked with the other case to his couch. 

He set the case on his lap, just as he'd done with the other one, and opened it. Inside were two brand new Desert Eagles, something he'd bought from a weapons dealer in Tortall before he'd left for Tusaine. No one was supposed to know, but somehow word had gotten out, or else Paxton wouldn't have mentioned it. They were brand new and no one else was likely to have the models, which made it so much more important to Joren to hide them from his bosses. He wasn't supposed to have merchandise like that. 

It wasn't illegal, but it definitely wasn't legal either.

Joren packed the necessary personal items. After that, he made room for some of his tools and whatever else he needed for the maintenance of his bike. Clothing was not such a big deal. Paxton said that a woman would give them items to wear. Joren had next to none that he cared to bring. Just in case he had to make a run for it, he packed a pair of jeans and one of his random black T-shirts. 

His toolbox was open. Joren lifted the lid and discovered a wrench missing. The memory of lending it to Prosper came to his mind. He didn't feel like going to the Rider at that moment. Prosper wouldn't be in his apartment. He would go over Rider business with Raoul until nightfall.

Half an hour later, everything he needed was packed into two duffel bags, as requested. It was noon. Joren remembered his pager and removed it from his wrist. He set it down on his bed and decided to start filling cardboard boxes with his remaining possessions after he ate lunch. Not too many cardboard boxes would be needed.

Lunch consisted of a TV dinner that he deposited in the microwave after poking some holes in the top with his fork. He set the timer and pressed the Start button. The familiar hum of the kitchen appliance filled his ears. He ran a plastic cup under the faucet, filling it with tap water. Then he sat down and started reading the newspaper. He was tempted to check the obituaries for gunned down gang members—anything that looked suspicious. He was about to enter their world, after all. 

The timer buzzed and the machine's humming ceased. He removed his meal from the microwave, sat down at the table, and began to eat it in silence. 

~~

They still ask sometimes. "Why are you here?" They mean the DJPF, because the people who ask this question are usually colleagues. No, they say that, but they don't mean that. What they are really asking is "Why are you on this earth?" because they know I don't belong. I don't fit in. 

_Why pick the DJPF in a country that's not your own? My country is rotten through and through, no matter what people say. It looks very fair and just on the outside, but it's all bull. I believe all countries are the same, actually. The difference with Mithros is that it's big enough for me to get lost in. I'm just another face in the crowd. No one knows me here. No one will ever know me here._

_When I first came to the Academy, I didn't look forward to the possibility of standing out. I became the gruff stoic jerk that everyone ignored… the one that if you approach, would bite your head off. A man needs his space. Although at the time, I had yet to be considered by some as a man. I was this teenage kid—a foreigner—who only had clothes on his back and his father's banged up motorcycle. _

_I remember talking to a man on the eastern tip of Mithros. I paid him what little money I had left from my parents to insert false records into the Tortallian Academy Database for new transfers. It was dishonest. I oppose that which breaks the law, but at the time I reasoned that I would make up for it. My deeds would be greater than my crimes. _

_My false story was thus: A distant relative who had become my guardian thought that remaining in Galla would cause me too much pain, because everything would remind me of my parents. A friend of hers had a son who left the country for Mithros. He became a respected DJPF officer, since everyone in the world knows how disciplined and effective the Mithran DJPF are. So my great aunt, or whoever she was, decided to send me to the Academy in Tortall, because I considered myself physically mature to contend with my fellow cadets._

_I was actually a bit young for them. Most of everyone in my classes had finished with high school, or they had started young and planned to finish their high school credits within the Academy (which essentially meant that they would graduate at the same time as those who had already finished high school). Without any peers and without any desire to have peers, I spent my time alone, studying. I would submit requests to Headmaster Naxen for advanced placement tests that would bump me up through the class levels. I wanted out. I hadn't come to Mithros to be stuck in an Academy until my mid-twenties._

_For the record, I did meet Owen Jesslaw and Nealan Queenscove in some of my classes. Queenscove was popular; that is, everyone knew his name. He did his work sufficiently enough for someone of his level. Jesslaw was the same. But on the side, the two of them searched for mischievous deeds to keep them amused. The headmaster was angered by a few of their pranks, always insisting that this was an institution meant to train the future defenders of the nation—that sort of rot. I don't believe they started taking the Academy seriously until Mindelan stumbled into their lives. I had a few problems with Queenscove. We used to butt heads during combat training sessions._

_There's nothing much to say after that. The Commissioner Wyldon spent two weeks evaluating my accelerated progress when I graduated. He finally decided to send me out to Tusaine, under Buriram Tourakom. _

_Now I'm going into whole new territory. Something tells me I should be wary of the whole operation, but I'm not. All I've ever wanted to do since then was to uphold the law and kick the shit out of the corrupted. They corrupted my life. They took it away from me. They took it _all _away._

~~

Joren snapped out his flashback when he heard the door intercom buzz. He went to the entrance of his apartment. He leaned his hand on the intercom button and spoke. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Keladry's voice floated over to him. "I need to borrow your helmet. I have an errand to run."

He let the door slide open and leaned upon the doorframe. "Why don't you drive the squad car?"

His partner sighed. "Cleon took it. I paged him and he can't give up the car yet. Says he's waiting for Roald to get checked by Dr. Perdue or something."

It was an odd piece of information that Joren did not want to know further about. He nodded slowly, as if humoring a preposterous lie. Keladry moved one foot forward.

"So can I borrow your helmet or what?"

"No. Where the hell is yours?"

She moved past him anyway, purposely shoving against his shoulder. "I don't know. But I really have to go run this errand and all I have is my motorcycle, okay? Please let me borrow your helmet."

His lip itched to shout at her about her untimely interruption of his reminiscing. Couldn't a man have a minute alone to think anymore? 

On second thought, he welcomed it. He closed the door behind him and went ahead of Keladry to his couch.

"Well?"

Joren shrugged. "It's somewhere here. You're the one who needs it. You look."

She glared at him before beginning to do so. She didn't have much of a choice. Walking around his living room, she looked behind furniture and behind doors.  "You seriously don't know where it is?"

"Would I have told you to look for it otherwise?"

He sat down and watched her even enter his kitchen and his bedroom. He spread out on his couch, crossing ankle over ankle and folding his hands behind his head. He could hear Keladry shuffle through his belongings. 

"Are you sure?" Keladry called from his closet. "Didn't you use it today?"

"I might have."

She marched back into the living room. She gazed down at his relaxed form. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie?" He looked up at her with clear unblinking eyes. 

"You mess with me for no reason all the time. Come on, Stone. I really need to go to the grocery store."

Joren thought fleetingly of his flashbacks and reached a decision. "It's in the garage. But come here when you get back."

"Why?"

_I need you to distract me._

"You're looking to mess with my head, aren't you?" she accused.

_If it distracts me enough, yes._

"I'm not some push-over."

_That's what makes it worthwhile._

"Just do it, Mindelan," he barked. He mentally stepped back from himself when he realized he had shown more overreaction than her.

The strong-willed young woman sighed deeply and agreed. She didn't appreciate his lie from a few minutes ago, telling her that he didn't know where it was. He never actively sought her out to spend 'quality time' with her. What reason could he have now? "Fine. Whatever. Is the helmet on your bike?"

"Where else would it be? I'm surprised you didn't think to look there first."

Her cheeks flushed a tiny bit and she started for the door. She muttered a curt thanks and left. Joren wanted to run out the door and yank her back in. The majority of his days were spent alone, but he didn't want to be alone today. His mind was a tumult of painful memories that would slowly drive him upwards toward heaven to remember the ecstasy of a starlit sky, and then drag him down, down into hell to remember the pungent smell of brimstone.

Joren shifted onto his side, staring ahead at the coffee table. He gradually raised himself to an unwanted sitting position.

_This is it, Tenderfoot. Show them what you got._

Paxton Nond. He hadn't heard that voice in so long. The man was a whole other thing unto himself. He was like a different species of man that didn't fear anything. He just lived for the danger—the thrill—and lived much more happily than Joren could have ever hoped to live. In many ways, Paxton had become a pseudo-role model for Joren. He was skilled, strong, and alone. And he gave it no second thought.

_What are you waiting for? Let's get this over with before my hair turns gray._

"Just a second, Pax," Joren whispered. "Just a few more seconds."

~~

"Well, I'll be downstairs. Meet me down there when you've finished closing up." The voice of his new mentor filtered through the intercom at Joren's door. Joren hefted a bag over his shoulder and lifted another cardboard box under his arm. It was the last box that needed to be placed in storage. His apartment of not even a year was now empty. Only the furniture remained. It was never his to begin with, just hunks of crap that belonged to the apartment complex. 

He let the door slide open and walked out for what he hoped was not the last time. He often told himself that he hoped for nothing in life, but it couldn't hurt to hope for a life long enough to see what great tragedies befell mankind. Maybe one day he would be able to let go and be happy. Happiness was a myth.

Joren had been so distracted that he didn't sense someone focusing a camera upon him from behind. He didn't know until a bright flash lit the hall. When he turned, he didn't know whom to expect. Any reporter who dared to trespass this far was as good as dead. All the residents of the DJPF complex were very particular about their privacy.

"What are you doing?"

All four members of the Riders' Own stood behind him. Prosper held the camera, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dom spoke first.

"Aw, it's nothing. We were thinking that you might… get busy or something, and not come back to boring Tusaine. So," he shrugged as he rambled. "So we could get a picture of you for record-keeping purposes."

"You mean: if I die, you want a picture to display at the funeral?"

"No! Well, that _could_ happen, but you're not going to have a funeral."

"You're right. I plan to get cremated without a service. _If_ there's a body to be had."

Dom growled. "Well, maybe the rest of us would still have a gathering in your memory. Funerals are for those left behind to help them cope."

Fearing that he spoke too much and fearing he'd appeared like a sentimental sap, he looked at his companions so that they nodded as well. Joren shifted the box under his arm. He didn't know what to say to these men before him. They were acting like his friends. The only friends he'd had growing up were his racing buddies, but these men knew nothing about him. He couldn't afford to have friends. They were liabilities waiting to happen. With all the coldness he could summon, he spoke. "You're a bunch of pansies."

The newcomer, Qasim, looked ready to yell back, but Prosper stopped him.

"Aw, just forget it, Joren. You'll be back, right?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'll be gone for a while."

Dom nodded. "Yeah, well, it's not like we're always here either. So, I guess you got your traveling papers after all."

"You should listen to yourself sometime. You sound like an idiot."

"I know."

The Riders returned to Prosper's apartment to watch football. They began to talk in hushed tones. They dismissed him from their minds like the weather. Dom lingered behind, his brow creased and a frown on his face. Joren glared at him. "What now?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "So, how dangerous is it?"

His mission? Was that what worried the Rider? Joren could lie to him. Anything that calmed the other man down so he could leave without worrying someone… Dom was always too softhearted, Joren reasoned. He cared about everyone around him, even thankless men like Joren. It was an admirable quality, but often irritating to those who could not stand sympathy.

So what should he say? 

"If they find out my real identity, I'll most likely be shot in the head," Joren offered. 

Just as Joren expected, Dom's frown deepened. He nervously cleared his throat. "Oh… Man, that has got to suck."

"You have a talent for understatement."

"I bet I do."

Miraculously, Joren chuckled. Dom grinned, proud that he'd incited a good emotion from a callous man. Joren looked in the direction of the elevator. "I have to meet Paxton now." He considered something. "We'll go for a beer as soon as I get back."

"You don't drink, pal."

 "By the time I come back, I probably will."

The other man laughed. "Yeah." He paused. "Hey."

"What?"

"We're… friends, right?" He looked with uncertainty at the departing man, hoping to high Heaven he wouldn't be laughed at.

"Yeah…" Joren said reluctantly. Of all the people to let under his skin, he supposed Dom was the best possible choice. "You tell anyone though, and I'll kick your ass."

"Right, right." Better than nothing. "I guess I'll see you around then."

"Yeah. See you, Dom." This might be the last time he spoke to Domitan Masbolle. People breezed in and out of his life all the time. He didn't think to say a proper goodbye at all anymore because when proper goodbyes counted, he never received the opportunity to say them. He never said goodbye to his parents. He hadn't the opportunity. 

Life was a collection of opportunities and follow-throughs, he thought while riding down in the elevator with his belongings. A big opportunity awaited him with Paxton. He wasn't about to miss it.

Paxton's choice of transportation was a black four-door sedan with a slightly rusted bumper.  It looked like it had been through hell and back. The hubcaps were dull, but could have been shiny had they been properly cared for. The windows were thankfully tinted, but dirty. It also looked like mud had recently been tracked onto the floor of the passenger seat. Joren swung open the door and sat down. The car's interior seats were covered with dark rough material, like an itchy blanket made from coarse threads. Joren wondered about the stain in the back seat that was as brown as the rust on the bumper. Paxton commanded him to toss his bag in the back seat and they would be off to see Hattie.

On the drive downtown, Paxton started to act more normally around him.

"Is this your usual car or did you pick it up just for this… mission?" Joren asked

"Does it matter?" 

"Sounds like it needs a new muffler."

Paxton spared a glance at his new protégé. He laughed. "Yeah, well, you can do all you want with it. I personally don't give a damn about the hunk of metal, but you're welcome to do what you want. Whatever keeps you occupied!" He held onto the wheel with one hand while scratching under his chin with the other. "It might be good cover for you to be under a car, pretending to be looking at a muffler and _really_ be eavesdropping on other guys."

Joren squared his shoulders stiffly. "What is this whole thing about anyway? You've been relatively quiet about it from square one."

"What's it about? Take your pick: a cartload of money that's been missing for over eight months, extortion, loan sharking, illegal races, occasional homicides... or all of the above." One had to be completely dense to miss the cynicism in his voice. 

"All under the same group?"

"Light me up a cigarette, would you, kid?" While his companion obeyed, he responded to the first question. "What does it sound like to _you_?"

Joren light the cigarette and handed it to Paxton, who opened the windows and took a short drag. 

"It sounds like organized crime. What you said at Buri's office actually tipped me off."

The older man nodded approvingly. "Close. But it makes more sense to call it an underground society that's bigger than this here city. Ever since we discovered it's existence a few months ago, we've been astonished at its success. You can't pin anything on these bastards." He puffed on the cigarette once more. "So the head honchos of the DJPF figure we need some people on the inside to find the cornerstone of this whole place and kick it out from under them."

"The boss."

"Yeah. But we need more than just that. If the DJPF raid the place, who is to say that the boss won't get a warning and hightail it out of there? We have to find a weakness." He shrugged. "And evidence. Photos, wires, actual cold hard cash in briefcases. The works."

Joren breathed in sharply at the thought, and then immediately regretted it as he caught a whiff of Paxton's smoke. He coughed and rolled down his window, letting the fresh air wash over him. Paxton laughed and ground the cigarette butt into a small plastic cup and tossed it out the window. Joren made a mental note not to pour any coffee into the cup, though he doubted Paxton would remember.

"Sounds really heavy."

"What sounds heavy is your breathing, Tenderfoot. Get used to it. Not only will you be immersed in clouds of cigarette smoke, but who knows what else!" He stopped the car in front of a blue house with a white picket fence and a bright yellow mailbox surrounded by sunflowers. A woman stood at the door, untying an apron from her waist.

"What do you mean, what else?" Joren asked suspiciously though he knew the answer.

"Pick a hallucinogen. Any hallucinogen," Paxton replied in a melodramatic voice. "How about drinking? Can you hold your own?"

Joren never drank. That had been made clear long ago. He couldn't see why anyone would be willing to destroy his bladder and brain cells. "Won't know until I try."

"Well, you drink with me tonight after the race."

They got out of the car and entered the quaint home. The woman with the apron in her hands approached them before they reached the door. She was short with a petite body and very delicate looking hands. Her skin was fair and her hair whispery blond. Joren didn't expect her to be much older than 25 or perhaps 28 if she pushed it. The woman shook Paxton's hand and gave Joren a friendly smile. He assumed that she was Hattie, though he couldn't find a reason for the set up around them to be cheery and normal. She ushered them inside, offering them coffee. They both declined. 

"What do you want first?" she asked. "Threads or equipment?"

Paxton upturned his palms and made a who-do-you-take-me-for gesture to Hattie. "I'm a man of style, Hattie. You know that. We'll start with some nice threads."

She giggled. "Of course. Follow me, Gentlemen."

Within her hallway, she lifted a carmine rug to reveal a hidden entrance. With a thin piece of cord she lifted the panel up and moved the polished wood out of the way. Paxton politely offered his hand to her as she descended on the metal steps into the darkness. Joren hesitantly followed, one hand out toward the limestone wall to steady himself. A light clicked on from below him. Hattie had already found the switch. 

Clothing racks were arranged in perfect rows. A changing screen was placed in the corner. The left side of the stairs was slightly different. Metal cabinets lined the wall there. Joren wondered what was in them, but Paxton called to him.

"Get over here and pick your clothes."

In another universe, they could be in a department store. Paxton could have been a father, insisting to his son to buy clothing for the new school year. Instead, they were choosing their disguises for an operation that might cost them their lives. Joren went to the closest rack and started looking for sizes that fit him. Most of the items on the cart were darkly colored. Paxton started on a similar cart, occasionally picking out something like a red alligator skin jacket. Joren wrinkled his nose at the choices and kept his own selections simple and dark.

Hattie noticed and intervened. She went through the clothing he had already picked and learned his size. Without informing Joren of her idea, she also began selecting clothing and replacing Joren's stack of clothes. Twenty minutes later, Joren examined his stack and noticed most of his picks were gone. Hattie smiled and patted the table. "You still need a jacket."

"I'm not wearing this stuff."

Paxton was at the metal cabinets, unlocking them with a key from who-knows-where. He snorted. "Just take them. When you're done, get over here."

Joren growled low in his throat. "I don't care about this stuff. Isn't the operation the important thing?"

The woman at his side laughed. "It won't work unless you look the part." She disappeared behind a rack of clothing that was taller than her. Moments later, she returned with a brand new black leather jacket. Joren stared at it. It looked like something an old teen rebel movie might feature on its main character. He hesitantly allowed Hattie to put it on him. She pushed him gently toward the mirror. "It was made for you."

He ran his fingers over the material. His eyes wandered, noticing a red stitching just on the inside of the collar. "'Jackal'? What is this?"

"The jacket belonged to a friend of mine. I have no idea what it means, but the jacket is so you. Take it." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. 

A little bewildered, he went over to Paxton, who was examining Kevlar vests and handguns. There was also a row of hooks with keys on them. Pictures of hover cars, motorcycles, and hover bikes were placed over each key. Joren thought of his own bike, locked up with the rest of his belongings in storage. "You said we were racing tonight. Why don't I just bring my bike? It's not like it's actually registered. No one can trace it."

His mentor eyed him. "If you race on it, are you more confident of winning the race?"

"No problem."

Paxton nodded. "You arrogant little turd… Alright then. We'll go back for your bike. Our debut will be when you race. That ought to catch Yukishiro's attention."

"Yukishiro?" This had been the first time Joren had heard any name that might be the boss. He glanced around him. Hattie was packing up their clothes in laundry bags. He turned back to the older man and leaned in. "Is he the guy? The boss?"

A nod was his reply. Paxton remained silent for a few more moments. "Enishi Yukishiro. Yeah, we think so. I don't know much about him. I don't know what he looks like, so we'll have to find out as soon as possible. It's a pattern for his closest men to be motorcycle or hover bike racers. One of them is a former Motocross champion, I think."

"Does _he_ race?"

"I don't know. Guess you'll find out if you manage to get on his good side."

"Do you want me to get on his good side?"

Paxton glared at him. He reminded Joren of a painting of the Devil with his dark expression.  "What do you think?"

~~

The sound of revving engines filled Joren's ears. He walked behind a dumpster, hoping that the sound was partially blocked. It wasn't. He went back into the open, kicking up dust from the empty lot. The beginning of the racetrack was at the opening of the lot. Cars pulled up to the starting line, covered in bright colors and logos. Huge torches burned overhead. They cast a red glow around him. The throngs of people emitted more noise than the engines of a jet, or the noise of a buzz saw. They were all lower forms of society. The prostitutes strutted about the place, hoping to get some cash that night. Other men drank and laughed. Some fought with their fists. The condemned old district of Tusaine surrounded the lot, almost a few miles outside the official city limits. There were no enclosures or buildings around, except the abandoned two-level garage. 

On the second level, overlooking the whole lot and most of the road that the cars planned to race on, were a group of men in suits or men with 'high-status' written all over them. They stood, talking amongst themselves about the stock market and about the dead man they had dumped into the river two nights ago. Joren couldn't help but think that he could stand right next to one of these men in the line for the ATM machine. Yet here they were. And here he was.

Paxton whistled. "Get over here."

"What?" The blonde young man fanned the air around him and prayed that he wouldn't contract lung cancer from second-hand smoke. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. The leather was much more comfortable than he ever imagined it could me. He secretly thanked Hattie for her choice.

"Yukishiro is up there, watching. When your race is up, you'd better put on a show. Go check up on your bike right now. Make sure no one is messing with it. I'll stay here and look for someone to squeeze for information." His tone of voice was identical to that of a man searching for something in the grocery isle while ignoring his child sitting in the food cart. He held out his hand for Joren's jacket.

Joren rolled his eyes and took it off, now left in his red and black racing uniform. He made his way toward the lower level of the garage where his motorcycle was. He made sure to park in a corner in the shadow of a huge van so no one would see the Black Knight X40. Other mechanics and racers milled around, slapping each other on the back and sharing lewd jokes heard from a bar. He could hear a man throwing a wrench to the floor, yelling at another man beside him. They shoved at each other for a few moments before resuming their work. 

It would be a lie to say he wasn't nervous about racing. He had not raced anyone in a long time. Even then, Joren had raced on a dirtbike, not a racing motorcycle. Sure, even on a couple of hoverbikes. He had never raced anyone on his father's motorcycle. He didn't know if he could. Tonight would be the first time. If he couldn't handle it, he would have to wait until the next illegal race to catch Enishi Yukishiro's eye. A nagging spirit in him rebuked him for being so confident to Paxton about his father's bike. What would Yukishiro think if Joren crashed right in front of him? There would be no chance then to get into the inner circle.

_Who is this guy?_ He thought. It didn't seem possible to him how one man could start a community of corruption in one city and never be caught. Not once. What happened to the agents who had tried to catch him before? Did they die? Were they _murdered_?

_Now is not the time to think about _that_._

He double-checked everything he could think of, but it still didn't seem like enough. His hands rested on the handlebars. He gripped them hard through his gloves to get the familiar feeling back in his arms, stretching forward toward eternity. His helmet was no longer recognizable. Before they had left Hattie's, Paxton suggested they airbrush a picture of a jackal's open jaws on it—to match the jacket. Joren didn't see the reason of creating a persona around the image, but Paxton assured him it would enhance his popularity in front of those they were trying to fool.

The blood red image against black was outlined in silver and was placed on both sides of the helmet. He removed his hands from the handlebars and started tracing the visible teeth of the picture. This was his new image: a predator on the hunt. Criminals were his prey. It sounded cliché when he whispered it, but it would be true to him. He might have to lower himself to their level, but it didn't mean he would become them. He would hunt them. Like a predator stalking his prey. _I'm a friggin' wolf in sheep's clothing._

"Hey, New Guy."

Joren turned. He was met by a man his height, dressed in a navy blue racing uniform. His spiky hair was unnaturally bright red with streaks of blonde. The way it stuck out almost gave him the appearance of a head on fire. He had a tiny scattering of freckles on each cheek and a goatee that matched his red hair. He could have been one of Joren's opponents in his upcoming race. But the man limped as he approached, indicating that he was obviously injured and therefore unable to race. 

"Never seen ye around 'ere. Aren't ye a bit young to be racin'?"

"No. Aren't you?"

"I'm 24, punk," he snapped. There was an accent in the voice, which made his letters roll on the tip of his tongue like a purring kitten and his vowels distorted. He folded his arms across his chest and looked Joren up and down. "So, what's yer name, New Guy?"

"Jack Winston," Joren replied automatically. He'd spent all afternoon practicing introductions. The last thing he wanted to do was slip out his real name. His new pager read nothing but lies. He was supposedly two years older than he really was, and born in Carthak. He was not a DJPF officer nor did he have any friends in the DJPF. He was just another average Joe with a thing for motor vehicles. 

His visitor extended his hand. "Coram Smythesson. I'm the usual top dog around 'ere, but I crashed into some fire barrels on the course last week. Yer lucky that I'll be out for a while."

Joren insecurely glanced at his own protective padding. He doubted he would injure himself, but nonetheless, the idea irked him. He was also a little discouraged by Coram's proud statement, "top dog," but he was much more concerned about getting information.  Coram didn't come off as the type to steal or murder. Joren tried to think of many people there at the races as terrible as they seemed. 

"Since you win so much, have you ever met the guy who runs all these races?"

The new acquaintance's mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. He shook his head and shrugged. "I have. What, are ye one of those poor S.O.B.'s trying to become one of his favorites so he can hook you up with some good jobs?" Before Joren could reply, Coram snapped at him like a cobra once again. "Because if ya are, just forget it. Yer a young lad, just get yerself out of 'ere, ya dumb fool."

"Number one, I'm not a young lad. Number two, I'm definitely no dumb fool."  He wouldn't back out. He really had no choice. Whatever Coram knew, Coram was afraid of it and he was trying to do Joren a favor by scaring him off. Joren could tell if he tried hard enough, he could earn Coram's trust and thereby earn a useful ally. The man with an accent was already a prominent racer in this underground world, and also a close associate of Yukishiro.

Coram's intensity did not diminish. "What are ye after around 'ere?"

"Just looking for a good race like yourself."

"Well, when yer finally in the thick of things, don't say I didn't warn ya." He paused. "_If _you get that far."

At that moment, Joren's pager chose to start beeping. He glanced at the tiny screen. Paxton had no success except for the usual responses: 'oh, I've seen him around.'  "It's my partner, Mark."

"Partner?"

"You can talk to him if you want. My race is up." Joren said. He got on his bike and put up the kickstand. The other motorcyclists in the garage were also preparing.  He quickly gave a Coram a description of Paxton so he could find the other man and speak with him while Joren raced. 

Coram nodded. "Well then, g' luck."

"Don't need it." Joren grinned and put on his helmet. He moved up in line with the other men while Coram exited the garage by hopping over the concrete divider.  From that point on, Joren dismissed the new acquaintance from his mind. Now was the time to focus. It wasn't the same as racing down interstate highways with no one else around. It wasn't the same as going down a country road and looking up at a starlit sky. This was for speed and victory.

He took in the familiar sounds of motors and wheels screeching as they left tire marks on the pavement. He rode out of the garage in line with the rest of the competitors. They were a crazy assortment. Some had dyed hair like Coram, others were in neon colors and odd logos. Some talked together in friendly tones. Others insulted each other with words and gestures. He wondered if this was actually going to be a fair race. If it were not fair, he'd have to pull a few tricks of his own. He didn't like the thought of it, but a man had to do what a man had to do.

He hated that line.

The atmosphere was filled with rivalry. No one came here just to have a good time, no matter how much they denied it. It was all business. Bets were being exchanged, drug dealers sought buyers, and prostitutes sought money on legs. A minority of men and women had come for the sake of the race, but they were so few and far between that their faces blended in with the rest of the crowd.

"Racers, approach the starting line!"

Joren and the other racers lined up, leaving just enough room to get by. He noticed that a few women were racing as well despite the crude looks they were receiving by other men. He leaned forward on his bike, flexing his hands around his handles. The vibration of the vehicle beneath him was unsteadying. His muscles tensed as he watched the light drop down from red… to yellow…to green.

They sped off, bursting from the starting line like rockets into the sky. Joren fought to get a good length ahead of the dozen plus riders around him. After the initial scramble and (Joren mentally shook his head) elbowing and fighting, he secured third place. He leaned into the curve, glad that torches and fire barrels lit the course in front of him. He also glanced behind himself, knowing he must be aware of other opponents trying to make a pass.

The adrenalin was rushing through his veins. His every little movement or adjustment made all the difference between victory and defeat. He had learned that a long time ago, when his father had taught him to race on dirt bikes. The wind whipped at him through his uniform and padding. Icy daggers were driving themselves into his skin. It felt so odd to be speeding along a racetrack again. A billion and one thoughts filled his woozy head, all telling him what to do. 

Up ahead, he saw a wide curve, perfect to make a pass at first place. It led right into an obstacle area of fire barrels and ramps, and then a drop from the pavement. Joren tensed all his muscles even more so. When he noticed, he relaxed a bit and threw more of his mind into the concentration of things. 

This was the feeling, he realized a split second later. This feeling of pressure, the burden of knowing he _had_ to win this race and make a name for himself in front of these people: Joren Stone, the victorious mystery man.

No. Jack Winsoton. He meant, Jack Winston.

This wasn't for his pride or his own glory. How could he have fooled himself like that? Joren raced to please a man he'd never met before so he could please Paxton, a man he barely knew. His life wasn't meant to please others, just him! Yet here he was again.

He sped up with a loud roar from underneath him. He perfectly balanced himself while leaning into the curve and passing the men who had previously been in front of him. The curve had actually been tighter than he had anticipated. One false move and he could have fallen and skidded out of the course and into the tin barrels. He took first.

The formerly leading men would be wanting to pass him now—this hot-head whom they had never seen before. Joren wouldn't allow it. He moved to block them on the straight sections. One of them could have tried to pass. Joren would have blocked him, while the other got by. Since each man was racing solely for himself, the two behind him did not cooperate. He undoubtedly had the lead.

He skillfully dodged the fire barrels and took to the ramps. His legs absorbed the jolt upon landing. He didn't look behind him, but he could hear those who did crash into the barrels and missed the ramps. Someone whooped over the din, indicating that some of the crashes weren't accidental. There was one more jump before the finish. He had to nail it or else he could lose his place.

Joren never felt more alive than at that moment. His heart was pounding between his ears and every muscle in his body was tense. The danger… the _thrill_ brought his consciousness to new heights. He didn't think he could become any higher on a drug than how high he was at that moment. His head was practically in the clouds.

The finish line was not too far away now. He sped up, approaching the ramp. Waiting for him at the finish was either the chance Paxton was looking for or the agony of defeat. Enishi Yukishiro was watching. He would see everything.

And then Joren was in the air. His stomach did flip-flops for the few seconds he was up. It was a feeling of complete weightlessness, then gravity pulling him harshly back down to a hard, but successful landing. He heard the pack of riders right behind him, trying to speed up on the home stretch. He gritted his teeth.

_Oh, _hell_ no. I don't think so._

He decided to take it up a notch, and sped up even more. It was pushing the Black Knight to its limits. He wouldn't be surprised if he repeated one scene from his childhood where he blew a top end before the finish of a race. But he had to do it. The others were too close behind, with newer bikes… better equipment. 

But not his skill. He fought to keep in control. At such high speeds, every little movement he made affected the bike's movement. He could hear the crowd cheer. Were they cheering for him? Did they want the newcomer to win? _Yes. They did. They want you to win, so just do it,_ he told himself. The only thing that was going to pull him through this was his own determination.

In the end, the only thing you could rely on was yourself. 

_You will do this. That's all there is to it._

And then he was there. All at once, he could feel his chest start to slow its heaving breaths, sucking in air at a slower, more relieved pace. He decelerated as soon as he thought to, curving around in the dirt. He curved back around to the garage entrance. The light was better there, and he could see everyone finish behind him. His head was spinning, whether from the ride itself or the sheer magnitude of what he'd just done, he didn't know. 

Joren set his feet down. He leaned on one leg, still seated on his father's motorcycle. Then, he reached up to remove his helmet. When he pulled it off, he felt immediately refreshed by the cool night air. It made his face tingle, and he was glad he didn't have a beard so he could feel nature tickling him. 

Paxton and Coram approached him while the remaining crowd shouted their approval. Everyone accepted this newcomer with open arms. He was a brilliant distraction from their downtrodden lives, which they didn't bother improving. It would all end one day anyway, wouldn't it? There was nothing left but to savor the good moments like these.

"I knew you'd do it," Paxton said proudly.

Coram nodded. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Ye led the pack almost half the race."

The blonde racer wanted to grin. He'd never had a more satisfying victory. That's how he felt: satisfied. His heart still raced though his breathing was again regular. The adrenalin rush was still there. He could dodge bullets as calmly as spreading butter on bread—if he wanted to.

"Do you hear them? They like you. We're _in_," Paxton whispered. He looked about to say more, but the suddenly let his gaze drift upward. The curiously happy man smiled.

Joren followed his gaze. On the second level of the garage, the dignified, self-appointed Gentlemen Elite looked down on him. Some clapped while the more dangerous appearing men put their fingers to their mouths and whistled loudly. Their manners were more crude, but more expressive in their congratulations. Three or four women spotted him and blew kisses. The gestures spoke of a private invitation that he was unwilling to take. He had better remain focused, hadn't he?

And that was when he saw the man with white hair. He appeared young, so why was his hair the shade of newly fallen snow? It wasn't like how other men dyed their hair different outrageous colors. The man simply had white hair in unruly waves around his head. It was almost like a ragged halo. Only fallen angels recognized their own.

Other details began to register. Everyone else gathered around the strange white-haired man, like saints to the harking messenger. What message had Joren to learn from him then? He shivered, as if snow really had fallen, and it not only fell on that men's head, but on Joren's body as well. 

His mentor and his new acquaintance were conversing about future races.  Paxton was making himself appear like a sponsor or coach. It suited him fine at the moment. They could easily change details later. Nothing was ever set in stone.

"Jack?" a voice called. "Jack!"

Joren blinked. _Right. I'm Jack._ "What?"

Coram regarded him with newfound suspicion. "Ya are looking to get into his good graces, aren't ye?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Who do ye think? Yukishiro, the man yer starin' at!"

Paxton's immediate interest was apparent. He stepped forward so he came between both Joren and Coram. "Is that him then?"

Joren looked back up. A shiver ran the length of his body from his fingertips to his toes. Yes, that was Yukishiro. Finally seeing him was as climatic as earlier conversations with Paxton made it seem. It all came down to how well he duped this man. If he duped him at all.

Someone tapped his shoulder with a well-manicured nail. He turned at the waist, his feet still rooted to the ground on either side of the motorcycle. A young lady—more like a girl, really—dressed in a mini skirt and a pink shirt with ruffles bowed her head to him. It could have been out of respect or merely to hide her flushed cheeks. Her ten-minute curls did an outstanding job of hiding her face when she lowered her head.

"Are you the winner of this last race?"

He glanced at Paxton, who was similarly perplexed. Joren tucked his helmet under his arm and nodded. "That's me."

"His name is Jack Winston," Coram spoke up. He stepped in front of him and then laid a gentle hand on the girl's quivering shoulder. "Did ye need something, Kimmy?"

The girl's face tilted up at the man speaking to her. The way her eyes softened, Joren surmised that they were familiar with each other more than just a first name basis. In fact, her expression was almost one of… admiration? 

"Mr. Yukishiro requests an audience with Mr. Winston."

Coram let out a deep breath. He stepped away from the girl and nodded to his companions. He knew it was a great achievement for them, but at the same time it bothered him on a whole new level. He absently reached for the girl's arm, tugging her toward him and whispering something. She nodded and jogged away into the garage again. 

"Alright," Joren said. He dismounted from his motorcycle. "Let's go then."

Paxton frowned. "I'll load the truck and meet you later."

He was leaving Joren alone to face this man? How could he do that when he knew that Joren wasn't experienced in these matters? Joren felt helpless again, like an intern left at the desk while his employer/instructor decided to busy himself with coffee. He had indeed gone undercover in certain cases before. But compared to this, those were child's play. 

Joren dismounted. Their limping guide walked a few steps ahead. He knew they would catch up soon enough since he was at a slow pace. Joren waited until he was out of earshot before speaking again.

"What do you think you're doing? Why don't you come?"

"You know what needs to be done. I trust you."

He gritted his teeth and tried hard not to reach forward and shake his mentor for all that he was worth. "And what the hell about you?"

"You'll introduce me later, when you've earned his approval. Page me when your meeting is over." The older man pointed to the dimly lit garage. "You had better go."

The first test of his deception competency was about to commence. A feeling like a dull lead weight rested at the bottom of Joren's belly, pressing into his other visceral organs. He had lied to men's faces millions of times, mostly to trick and trap the scum of society. All of this was merely a step up from what he was accustomed to. Joren, squeezing his helmet under his arm, walked with long swift strides into the garage. 

The whole way up the concrete steps, Joren ran through different pieces of information that he might need to tell Yukishiro. Little pebbles under his boots made tiny jabbing pains in the soles of his feet, distracting him. He stepped aside from them but continued to stare at the ground as he walked. What could he say? If only Paxton had less faith in him. Then he would be here, instead of Coram—a possible, but not assured ally. 

Lights on tripod stands resembled those a photographer used in a photo shoot. They were placed at corners of the gathering area. The men and women here were an odd mix compared to below. A middle aged man in a blue suit clinked champagne glasses with a rugged youth with two nose rings. They seemed to be acting very civil to each other, which only confused Joren more. 

Coram stood at the edge of a group of men, Kimmy shyly clinging to his arm. She looked afraid to be anywhere else. He motioned for Joren to approach the group. Joren insecurely looked around. He observed for the most part that people ignored him. He met Coram and asked, "So where is he?"

"Ah, you must be… Jack Winston? Is that the name, Coram?" a smooth velvet voice floated to his ears.

The group parted easily like the waters of the sea in biblical legend, revealing the mysterious white-haired man. All eyes fell on him. He was surprisingly and truly young in appearance, about thirty at most. His aquamarine colored eyes shone brilliantly despite horrible lighting. His intelligence was carried across in his perfect pronunciation. It was like a badge worn on his sleeve. The way he held himself—simply the way he breathed told the whole world of his apparent superiority.

Joren had an urge to demand what fantasy movie had the man escaped from, or what mystical place was he born in. He couldn't conceive of ever meeting someone this naturally… radiant outside of a theatrical play. Even the smirk on his face seemed unreal. It was confidence without arrogance and determination without a particular goal.

"I'm Jack," he answered rather lamely.

Enishi Yukishiro smiled. Perfect pearly teeth, all straight. He could have advertised toothpaste. "The race was well run. Congratulations." He noted Coram absently. "I see you've met Coram. What do you think?"

Coram shrugged, realizing he was being addressed. "He's a good lad."

Joren and Coram exchanged looks. Coram still didn't completely trust Joren, but he was willing to look after him in Paxton's stead. The way Paxton spoke of the blonde man to Coram while the two strangers had spoken indicated something like a fatherly role.  Joren himself did not wish to depend on anyone to gain Yukishiro's favor, but it wouldn't hurt his situation. 

If Yukishiro wore his confidence on his sleeve, then Coram's good intentioned heart was on a pedestal waiting to be seen by all. The purely innocent look on his face was too genuine. It couldn't have been faked. Joren wondered if Coram could help him out by showing him the ropes to this place. Anything at all would do.

"I'm curious," Yukishiro began, jogging Joren's attention. "Why have I never seen you here before? Where do you come from?"

Joren shifted his helmet to his other arm. "Carthak. And uh, please, just call me Jack. I'm not into formalities." He paused before he added. "I'm here with my partner Mark. We were looking for specific job opportunities, you might say."

The man, the _leader_, in front of him folded his hands behind his back. He took a moment to scrutinize Joren from where he stood. For Joren's sake, he hoped the man liked what he saw. Or else, the young operative was as good as gone. Joren would not leave until he got what he needed, and if he screwed up now, it would take three times the effort for another opportunity.

And he should never waste opportunity. The follow-through was the thing.

"I see. Well, Jack, you'll find many job opportunities here." He paused in consideration. "I think it would be beneficial for you to see me at my office in the city tomorrow." He waved his hand toward the forgotten Coram. "You'll show him the way, won't you?"

"O' course." The accented man's grip subconsciously tightened, causing Kimmy, still latched to his arm, to squeak. 

Joren was but one feeling that moment: relieved. He could be nothing but relieved that he had passed this first test. The difficult part was over. He had the approval, and now an invitation. Now he just had to play up to the expectations and take his winnings while he could.

Yukishiro delved into some personal history. "So how long have you been racing?"

"Since I was a little boy. But I started out in Motocross."

"You like it?"

"Love it."

The chuckled emitted from the man's lips was unexpected. "It sounds like someone I know." He glanced at his watch—a silver Rolex, naturally. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Winston. I'm afraid I must take my leave of you, though. Business, you see."

Joren bowed his head politely. Yukishiro inclined his own head to Joren and walked past. Three men followed briskly without even speaking. The rest stood absolutely still and then resumed conversation only when he was absolutely out of sight. Joren didn't know what to do now. Should he stay or leave to meet Paxton?

Then he remembered Coram who glowered at the blonde young man. Coram whispered something to Kimmy. She left. He took Joren roughly by the arm and yanked him to the side, where they looked out over the ground in the dirt lot below.

"Just looking for good races, eh? I thought ye were just going to take the money ye won and leave it at that." His malice was unchecked. It was obvious that though he was injured, he was still a very big threat to Joren's well being.

Joren could leave Coram angry. After all, he'd gotten in with Yukishiro. That was his main objective. He didn't need Coram, yet something in the other man's eyes hinted at an unbreakable loyalty that could benefit Joren if he decided to make amends with him. So it came down to this: would he or wouldn't he? What would his mentor say?

_Screw him. He left me here with Coram to face Yukishiro._

"I'm sorry." Apologizing was not one of his strong points. He struggled with the words. "It wasn't something I'd planned on saying. It just kinda popped out."

"It'd be better if ye left while ye could. Ya got a future in racing. Ye can turn pro."

"Why didn't you?" Joren shot back, also offended that his first apology ever had been ill received.

Coram's face was now stricken. "Rispah asked me… she asked me to take care o' Kimmy…"

Joren regretted his words. Why couldn't he have guessed something like that before? It didn't make sense for Coram to be at these underground races unless it was not just for money, but for the power that Yukishiro handed out. Professional racing brought in even more money, but wasn't as influential. That didn't seem to fit. Coram Smythesson on first glance was a purely kind soul. And on second and third and any other subsequent glances, he was an angel in disguise. The only reason he would have to stay associated with the likes of this strange mafia were if he was being blackmailed, or trapped.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright." He bit on the corner of his lip and explained. "Only Yukishiro knows. Everyone else thinks she's just a numbers runner for Big Al."

There was silence after that. Joren had no idea who this Rispah was, but she trusted Coram enough to leave Kimmy in his care. And whether it was she or Yukishiro that kept Kimmy waiting in this darkness he could not figure out. There would be all the time in the world to pry later. He was here to learn Enishi Yukishiro's darkest deeds and expose them. And then he would get the evidence and shove it in his face.

Would he leave after the job was done? Could he leave Coram stuck here? The man was certainly trapped. If Joren arrested Yukishiro in the end, Coram and the other men would be listed as accessories to whatever crimes he'd committed. No chance at the professional league. Kimmy would be alone if Coram was in jail. She was certainly too old for the orphanage, and too shy and demure to survive without either her 'big brother' or Rispah.

And somehow, he guessed Big Al wouldn't help either.

Help. Paxton. Paxton could help. _Aw shit. Have to page him._ And he did. He looked up at Coram's contemplative eyes. "I have to go. Need to see Mark and pack up the truck. Get the prize money. You know, that sort of stuff."

His newly acquired friend nodded. "Right." He reached into his pocket. "Hey, where can I find ya tomorrow? Ya know, if I'm to bring ye to him."

Joren rattled off his new pager number. Coram wrote it on the back of his hand with a pen. The former hoped that he wouldn't confuse Paxton's messages with Coram's now. It was too late to back out of this new alliance with the injured racer. He had to kick back and watch what happened. If anything happened at all.

Coram pocketed the pen and nodded. "I still hope ye can leave all this before yer in too deep."

"Why do you care? It's not like I've been particularly nice to you. And when you're healed, I'll be your competition."

The older man shrugged. "Ye remind me of myself. I used to be like ye. In ways, I still am. It just takes time and the right sort of people." Joren imagined the other man was talking about the unknown Rispah. "If ye stay here too long," he whispered, "Ya either break and surrender like me, or ya become what ye hate. Like him."

"I wouldn't change that much. Are you sure I remind you of yourself?"

"Definitely."

He snorted. "I'm not dying my hair red."

Coram ran his fingers through his spiky hair. "Ye won't have to. Ya change in other ways."

They continued talking as they descended to the first level of the garage. A man who wore sunglasses despite the time of night was waiting with Paxton to give Joren his prize money. Coram jogged forward and shook hands with the peculiar money-bearer. 

"How much was it?" Joren asked his mentor.

"A cool thousand. Good work." He started to speak with the grim faced money-bearer again.

Joren's eyes widened. He had expected only half as much. Coram clapped him on the shoulder. 

"You'll be fine living on that. Where are ye staying anyway?"

"Motel near the condemned building on Forsyth."

Coram nodded. He started to back up. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Jack."

Paxton turned away from his conversation and fixed Joren with a curious eye. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"Yukishiro."

The older man's eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. Joren shrugged humbly. He shook hands with the waiting money bearer and accepted the briefcase with its wads of bills. 

"Remember what I said!" Coram yelled from a few feet away. "Ye still have time!" And then he walked further into the garage, heading upstairs to meet Kimmy. If Paxton was a substitute father figure, then Coram suddenly appeared like the older brother Joren never had. 

"So I see that Smythesson is looking out for you. This could come in handy," Paxton noted. "What about Yukishiro?"

The short summary of the conversation pleased Paxton. He laughed loudly and grinned. "I think this calls for a celebration."

"Now? Don't we have to think about getting wires for—"

Joren was quickly silenced when Paxton punched him in the gut. Joren doubled over, gasping for air. Paxton yanked him upright again. He whispered menacingly into his left ear. "Are you _trying_ to give us away, you idiot?"

He suddenly saw his grievous error and wondered how in so many years, he had slipped in the one place that counted the most. He could practically hear Buri, yelling at him and saying, "I warned you!" Yes, she had warned him. But he really had forgotten some of his training. He supposed he ought to stop being so rude toward his former boss, but he wasn't even sure if he'd ever see her again.

Paxton cooled down after a few seconds. He apologized in a monotone mumble and commanded him to follow to the truck. His bike was loaded into the back of a truck that resembled a small moving van more than anything else. The car Paxton had previously driven was parked at the motel. The two partners spoke very little on the way back. His mentor brought up subjects that he wanted him to ask Yukishiro about. Coram would know what pleased Yukishiro, so Paxton also permitted Joren to retain good relations with him. 

Joren couldn't run the risk of wearing a wire and getting himself caught. He could wear one in later months, if he chose, but Yukishiro's people still didn't trust him. They would no doubt keep an eye out for him.

Deception was such a handy tool, he thought. It plagued a man's conscience, but Joren was trained to ignore that. 

They parked at the back of the hotel.  Paxton lit up another cigarette. "Check everything before you come up. Sounds like you pushed it to the limit right before the finish line."

Joren nodded and got out. He went to the back of the truck, still wondering how he was going to deal with his problems. He grabbed the handle of the sliding door and hauled it up. He gaped at the sight he was greeted with.

"Kimmy?"

He glanced at the driver side and saw that Paxton was already making his way into the motel. He cursed openly and returned his gaze to the little stowaway. "What the hell—"

"Please, hear me out!" she cried. She crouched down at the edge and beckoned him inside the truck. Looking around for the last time for any witnesses, Joren climbed in and lowered the door behind him. Kimmy grabbed a flashlight from the toolbox and turned it on. She was frightened enough as it was, being away from her guardian. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Coram has a message for you. He couldn't page it. He doesn't trust his number anymore."

If he were Coram, he, too, wouldn't trust anything that Yukishiro had access to. It was a smart move. He didn't know why exactly he trusted Coram. Even the good guy quality about him could be an act. Perhaps Joren was making a huge mistake and both he and Kimmy were lying to him. And yet… with all the betrayal he had seen in his lifetime, he could imagine himself trusting this stranger. 

After all, something in his eyes had sparkled of loyalty, hadn't it?

"What's the message?" he asked finally.

Kimmy swallowed nervously. She squeezed the flashlight in her hands. "Coram is being tested now, too. The way you handle yourself tomorrow affects him as well." She looked down at her lap. "It happened right after you left. I had to run to catch you. Some guys were talking to him… and… and he yelled back, and shoved. And then he took me aside and told me to tell you…"

He shushed her like a little baby. It felt so alien to comfort her, but anything else probably would have induced tears. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So what do I do?"

"Just impress him. He can hurt Coram. Coram isn't racing anymore… and his leg…"

"It's okay, Kimmy." He stood up, but bent over so his head didn't hit the roof of the truck. "Do you need a ride home?"

She shook her head. "I can get there."

The fairy figure of a girl waited for him to lift up the door. She hopped out, incredibly nimble in her tight clothing. She ran into the shadows. Joren hated to think of what could happen to a girl like that in a place like this. _I should have insisted on bringing her home. Last thing Coram needs is something to happen to that pixie._

Unfamiliar thoughts. Back home, he wouldn't have thought twice about giving a girl like Kimmy a ride home. She was under Coram's care, and anything that happened to her was eventually reasoned to be his fault. Despite a day's acquaintance, he was already protecting the other's own. What would he start doing next, carpools? 

He finished running checks on his father's motorcycle. For something as old as it was, it faired pretty well. Joren headed up to the room he temporarily shared with Paxton. They were looking for apartments to settle into for the duration of the mission. None were found to their liking.  They needed something outside of Yukishiro's ring of influence. When he opened the door, he was greeted with a stranger sight than Kimmy in the truck.

Paxton waited at a collapsible table, sitting with his hands folded on the table. In front of him were two rows of shot glasses of different colored liquids. A bottle of tequila stood on the table next to Paxton's elbow. Joren's eyes narrowed into slits. 

"This your idea of celebrating?"

He smiled in a way that prompted Joren to take a step back. "In a way. Remember how you said you weren't used to alcohol? Well, we're going to remedy that." He leaned toward the floor and patted a large plastic bag with different liquor bottles inside. "I've got a different one for each glass. By tomorrow morning, so help me, you'll know the difference between a Royal aged 40 years and one that's aged 39."

~~

The next morning was sheer hell. In Joren's head, little dwarves were mining with picks and shovels, creating a terrible racket in his head. His mouth was dry, but tasting horrible anyway, and his belly made little grumbling sounds that just weren't normal. He groaned and rolled over in his messy bed. The sheets were kicked off, as usual, but the bed was soaked in his sweat.

He'd only fell asleep at three a.m., after who knew how many 'mystery shots' and a half hour of retching in the bathroom.

_I feel like I'm gonna die._

"Wake up, Sunshine," Paxton sarcastically called. He studied the young man lying facedown on the bed. Then he grabbed a fistful of Joren's wheat-blonde hair and yanked the head up.

"OW! What—"

Paxton immediately let go and pinched Joren's nose with the same hand. With the other, he poured a glass' contents into his protégé's mouth. Joren made a muffled sound of protest. He couldn't breathe, so he had no choice but to swallow the vile. He almost gargled and choked, but Paxton merely tilted his head back even more.

"You'll appreciate this later."

_Like hell I will._ Joren managed to swat away Paxton's hands. He shook free of the hold and immediately stuck out his tongue from his open mouth. "That was awful!"

"Cleared your head up though, didn't it?"

He paused. His headache was rapidly fading, and he could feel his belly stop its grumbles, much to his chagrin. He shut his mouth and glared at his mentor all the same. "Well, whatever it was, warn me next time before you pour it down my throat." He paused. "What was it?"

"I'll teach you later, Tenderfoot." He picked up a still smoking cigarette from an ashtray and took a drag. He blew it directly into Joren's face on purpose.  The other flinched a bit, but otherwise stared him down. A few seconds later, he fanned the air and allowed himself to breathe. He was aware that he must become accustomed to it. There was no alternative since he would be trapped in filthy, polluted-air places.

He would learn to cope, but he wouldn't learn to like.

"So, have we learned from last night?"

_It doesn't matter what kind, alcohol at extreme amounts can make me shit-faced._

"Sure."

Paxton placed a shot glass under Joren's nose. The latter rolled his eyes. 

"Just a tiny sip. Tell me what it is and I'll never make you go through last night ever again."

Joren glared at him. He placed the shot glass at his mouth and sipped. When he'd gotten the taste on his tongue, he defiantly went further and flung his head back. The whole thing went down in a gulp. He exhaled sharply and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Scotch."

A smile crept onto Paxton's face. "Okay then. You're good to go. I'm glad to know the Paxton Nond method is successful." He chuckled. "And don't drink it all like that. That drink was made to be taken relaxingly."

"Duly noted." His young partner mumbled something else, incoherently, and got up from his bed. He stumbled to the bathroom, still weak in the knees, and slammed the door. He made an oath that morning never to experience another hangover ever again.

The oath would be broken within a week.

_At least I can definitely drink beer with Dom when I get back._

When he left the bathroom, Paxton threw something straight at his face. His hand instinctively snatched up and caught the thing. It turned out to be his pager. He didn't even need to check the message. Paxton had read it for him, leaving no space for privacy.

"That Smythesson guy is coming to show us to Yukishiro's office. You neglected to tell me that you have given him the location of our place here."

Joren shrugged. He draped his towel over his bare shoulder. "I didn't think it was a big deal. We can trust him."

The last thing he expected was for Paxton to pick up the phone and throw it against the wall. Absently through the loud noise it made, he was glad it was a regular touchtone phone and not a COM screen. That would have broken on impact. Joren observed his mentor, who looked furious, and the abused phone, which had dented the wall. A vision of a bull cornering an overly confident matador came to mind.

Where the hell was the distracting red bull-fighting cape when he needed it?

"If I ever teach you anything, it's not to trust anyone!" He stabbed a finger in his direction. "If he gets threatened enough, he _will_ turn on you. I guarantee it."

The unbreakable loyalty that Joren believed Coram possessed seemed to disappear within seconds. In its place was the reality that Paxton had known for years. And perhaps it was true. It made so much more sense than the idealistic trust that Joren was going out on a limb for. Coram was still practically a stranger. He could be a really good actor. That Kimmy girl, too. It was all a sham. It had to be.

Joren let out a deep breath, wondering how stupid he could be. "I'll be careful."

"You had better be. I swear, one day you'll be the death of me."

You _picked_ me, _Pax. Not the other way around._

The elder one knew this. Joren bent down to pick up the phone off the floor. 

"You know," Paxton started. "You are the Golden Boy that Wyldon made you out to be. It just takes time."

Without even mentioning it, Joren immediately knew that Paxton referred to times when the older man had first started out as well. Was it always this frustrating? Joren wanted to ask. Knowing you had what it took, but not being able to put it together? On the verge of greatness, but still so damn awkward? Joren felt like he was stuck in the middle of two worlds. It was a transition, almost like a second puberty.

_Bad simile_, he thought.

Five minutes later, Coram was at their door. He wore an ironed blue shirt and black tie, with pants that looked tailored just for him. The only remaining characteristic from the racer's appearance last night was his spiky red and blonde hair, like flames dancing on his head. 

"You know, one day someone will throw a bucket of water over your head and I'm going to laugh," Joren told him.

Coram shrugged shamelessly. "I like the attention. Come on; he's waiting."

"This early in the morning?"

"Real businessmen go beyond nine to five, my friend."

"I'll get dressed then." He headed to his bags. He grabbed the first set of clothing he came upon. Hattie had packed his clothes, and knowing that he would choose his garments in a haphazard way, had packed matching outfit on top of matching outfit. Thus, his selection ended up being a pressed red shirt that had shine in the threads, and a pair of black leather pants. By the time he realized his choice, he was already in the bathroom. He didn't want to look like a fussy dresser and go back out and search for something else. Not in front of other people, waiting on him. 

_I ought to kill her for picking this,_ he thought while tugging the pants up over his hips. _I'm_ really _going to get her for this._ He stared at himself in the mirror, aware that on a man who was trying to attract women, it was stunning. But he was out to impress a suspect, not a sexy woman in a club. 

"I should let her do all your shopping," Paxton joked when they left the hotel room.

"Who?" Coram asked.

"My girlfriend," he lied on cue. "She wanted us to look our best, of course."

The racer frowned, but didn't ask any further questions. They got into his car, a Cadillac that had seen better days. It was in far better condition than Paxton's car, nevertheless. The three men set off for downtown Tusaine. The radio was switched to the weather, so they listened to the broadcast for heat rather than think about the heat they could be in, should any one of them screw up in front of _him_.

Joren thanked whatever lucky stars he had that the district he was in was not currently patrolled by anyone he knew. The last thing he needed was Dom or Prosper blowing his cover. He looked left and right and found no familiar faces. If Buri knew anything about his location at all, she would purposely keep his friends from the area. 

The streets were fairly deserted. A few coffee stands were open. Early commuters and boys delivering stacks of newspapers milled about. Blocks away, the skyscrapers stretched toward clouds. They stopped at a corner in the slums, where the buildings (five stories at most) were plain brick. Advertisements covered bus stop benches. Billboards were shredded and torn where they stood against dingy walls. 

"Which one is it?" he asked, hoping he sounded casual. 

"He owns all the buildings around here. But we're going to that piece o' glass over there." Coram pointed to a building on riverfront. He started the car up again and they continued down the street. "I just wanted to show you what his territory mostly looks like." The mini-skyscraper they did park at was indeed a bright "piece o' glass" that reflected the morning sun.

Joren glanced at his mentor. He wondered why the other wasn't drilling Coram for information, especially since the information was very willingly being given. Did he expect Joren to do the interrogating since he had chosen to trust Coram? It struck him then that he hadn't mentioned Kimmy's late night message. It was probably for the best. It might have led Paxton to believe that Coram was planning an intricate, double-crossing trap.

At times, Joren realized, he didn't trust Paxton. He might be able to trust him, later on, but not at the moment.  Paxton Nond should have been the one person he trusted the most. And yet, he wasn't. What was trust anyway? It was faith. It was loyalty. An alliance that allowed each to leave their back unguarded, just right for the stabbing. 

"What does Yukishiro do? Officially, I mean."

Coram parked. They got out. Their breaths were visible in the early morning air. 

"Yukishiro owns a string of nightclubs, drugstores, and restaurants. He also deals with stocks. Quite an investor, he is."

_Men in suits_, he thought. _I thought they looked a little like the weasel stock type._

Coram glanced about before entering the building. Fear shown in his wide eyes. "He is a charitable man, despite what others might think. He sponsors the orphanages and donates regularly to children's welfare funds."

He didn't see that one coming, but it was a good development. It provided some insightful information. The bit about the orphanage stirred up unwanted emotions, though. Was it merely coincidence? Of course it was. No way in the world could that man know that Joren had almost been forced into an orphanage. 

The grim expression on his mentor's face confirmed what Joren suspected he was thinking.  The charity was a smokescreen, a false public image. Though that was most likely—considering what else Yukishiro did—what if there was actually a good heart's effort behind it?

"Top floor," Coram said to himself, filling up the eerie silence as they walked through the lobby. The man at the desk kept one hand just below the desktop, no doubt grasping a handgun and ready to shoot any unwanted intruder. Joren glanced above his head. Were there any hidden security cameras? He couldn't see any cameras at all. That was a bad sign. They were hidden. They had to be.

Paxton whistled a merry tune, nodding politely to the man at the desk. His wide, alert eyes were like a child's eyes when he was in a toy store where everything was off limits. Schemes of secret agents filled Joren's head. He always considered how like a James Bond movie his life sometimes reminded him.

The elevator ride lasted a while. Joren gazed out the elevator's transparent wall… window really… that gave a spectacular view. The river shimmered like gems surfacing from Neptune's treasure chest. Birds flew in a flock in the sky, changing directions and singing their erratic melodies. Tusaine was beautiful during the day. Joren knew it. He never spoke of it, but he recognized the greatness of the city he came to call his own. During the time he had spent in the DJPF here, he never knew that it could be that ugly, too. And now he knew that as well.

"Good morning, Gentlemen." The secretary's perfectly impassive face reminded him of a porcelain doll. Perfect and dull.

Other men stayed in the waiting room, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Just as the night before, they were an interesting mix of punks, thugs, and businessmen. One man with uncombed dark brown hair and stubble on his chin stood up. He set his cup of coffee down on the table. "Oy, Cor! How's the leg?"

"Better," Coram chuckled. "What's up with ye? I heard Gratz broke yer nose."

"He wishes!"

The two men guffawed a bit raucously enough for others to take notice. Joren's guide realized his charges were waiting patiently. He cleared his throat and wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "Sorry. I've got some business to take care of. We'll talk in a few minutes, alright?" 

The other man nodded and sat back down again, chuckling and muttering to himself while he lifted his steaming cup of coffee to his chapped lips. Coram beckoned for his companions to follow him. He let out a deep breath and focused on more serious matters. They heard from behind them the secretary press an intercom button and inform someone that they were here. The old-fashioned oak door slid into the wall.

They went in. Joren, who followed Paxton, felt his own arm being tugged very hard, then being released. The young man glanced behind him with a slight turn of his head. His guide stared at the floor. The muscles in his clenched jaw twitched in agitation. Joren remembered what Kimmy had told him. Was it really a trick? Or could it be true?

"Please, sit," Yukishiro bade them while the door closed. Joren and Paxton did so, but Joren found himself distracted by underlying matters. His mentor coughed politely.

"I hate to have come uninvited, Sir. My name is Mark Delacroix. I'm Jack's partner… or _coach_, you might say."

Yukishiro nodded his head slowly, his fingertips on fingertips, as if posing for a cold, calculating profile shot. "Ah, so this boy's speed is partly because of you? I'm honored to meet you then, Mr. Delacroix." He leaned back in his large black office chair, slick with comfortable leather. This morning, he wore small shaded spectacles with round lenses. They hid his aquamarine eyes until he deliberately lowered them on the bridge of his nose. His white hair was still in fluffed waves as if his head had been one of the plaster imitations of ancient gods. His voice, full of purpose but not self-importance, commanded Joren from the inside.

The confused young man felt inferior all over again, and Yukishiro had barely spoken a few sentences. He hated Paxton for taking partial credit for his speed and skill in front of the white-haired man. He hated that he couldn't stand up and denounce him in front of this man. He wanted to do anything, anything at all, to get rid of this inferior feeling. 

"Something troubling you, Jack?"

The question hung in the air like bad cologne. Something indeed troubled him. Many things, to be exact. He wanted to yell that he wasn't Jack. Jack was non-existent and that amazing speed demon last night was none other than Joren Stone, the son of a great man whose motorcycle deserved the credit, if not he, and definitely if not Paxton. He moved uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'm fine, Mr. Yukishiro."

Yukishiro's almond shaped eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "I think I might let you call me Enishi soon. There's an interesting quality about you, Mr. Stone. Peculiar, but interesting."

Never mind Joren's foul mood, his mentor was impressed with the turn of events. He tapped Joren's foot with his own, a miniscule noise with no presence to Yukishiro. It was a prompt to speak.

"I'm sorry, Sir. You summoned us here?"

"Yes, I did. You told me last night that you were looking for _job opportunities_. I've got something in mind, but I wasn't too sure that you were the right man for it until I," he paused and smirked, "talked to Coram. He enlightened me."

Joren's breathe caught in his throat before he opened his mouth.  He squeezed the armrest his hand laid upon, but met the calculating eyes in front of him with no fear. _I want to believe it's true. I want to believe that Coram is on our side and that man is not._ He blinked and shrugged. "So what did Coram say?"

"It's not important, is it?"

Paxton glared at his protégé. "No, it isn't."

Joren looked down at his lap.

"As I was saying. I heard you were looking for opportunities, Gentlemen, and I am only too happy to oblige." Yukishiro pressed the intercom button on his desk and murmured something. At once, two men entered from the sliding oak door. One was the same man Coram had addressed earlier and another who was even more ominous looking. Before the door slid shut, Joren glimpsed Coram, who was standing in the waiting room corner with shaking hands clenched in fists at his side.

"Do you mind if we do a security check, Gentlemen? These days, it's so hard to find an honest man."

Before they could even speak—and a good thing, since Joren was at the end of his rope and about to curse his lungs out—they were shoved to the wall. Their palms were pressed to the wallpaper above their heads while their legs were nudged apart. The silent cronies commenced a pat down, searching for devices or concealed weapons on their persons. The men found wallets, pagers, and Paxton's lighter and cigarettes.

Humiliation was the name of the game. Joren could feel his cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. It only augmented the inferior wretched feeling. He had never been through this. He'd seen criminals go through it, and those who failed to pass the metal detector at DJPF stations. It was an invasion of his personal space and he didn't appreciate unwanted hands forcing their way into his pockets to take his wallet. He wanted to punch and kick, but he forced himself while biting his lip, to remain still.

Finally, Paxton and he were made to sit down while information from their wallets and pagers was read and evaluated on the flat screen computer sitting upon Enishi's desk. 

"So, tell me, how big was your family?" he asked Joren.

The flushed young man rubbed his forehead as a signs of stress. He knew the answers well enough. "I had both my parents, who altogether had four kids. I was the youngest."

"You don't keep pictures of them?"

_Again with the damn personal questions. Make something up._ "We're estranged. You can imagine why, since I'm _here_."

Yukishiro nodded. He picked out a piece of yellow paper and dialed the number on it into the COM screen. Joren glanced fearfully at Paxton, since he did not recall having any sort of scrap in his wallet.

A woman's face appeared onscreen. She had a round face with blue eyes, but light brown hair that went straight to the base of her thick neck. She wiped her hands on a pink apron and frowned. "Hello?"

"Yes, may I speak to Mrs. Winston, please?"

"That's me," she answered, still very confused. She imagined they were some telemarketers, or men collecting funds for the DJPF Highway Patrol. What would they want with her?

He smiled congenially. "Thank you." He tapped a button, which ended the connection. His attention returned to the wallet and pager. "Well, well."

_Who was that?_ Joren asked inwardly. He checked to see if either of Enishi's cronies were looking, then mouthed his question to his mentor. The other man winked and made a low shushing sound. He laughed and cleared his throat.

"Sir? If you're convinced now, I'd like my cigarettes back." Though Joren still had trouble not hating him that day, Paxton stunned him with his fearlessness and confidence. The older man could have yawned, even with the barrel of a gun shoved in his mouth.

As Paxton had expected, both their items were returned to them. The cronies bowed low to their employer and exited as swiftly as they had entered. This time, Joren squinted to see the corner where Coram had stood in the waiting room. The man was gone, and the door closed behind the two other men.

"That's interesting."

He frowned for the fiftieth time that day. "Excuse me?"

Yukishiro pointed to Joren's collar. "Jackal. Was that an intentional nickname? Jack… Jackal?" He made a sound of understanding as he leaned back in his chair again. "I remember now. Your helmet! I thought they were decorated with a wolf's jaws, but they belonged to a jackal."

"Yes…" Joren responded uneasily.

"Are you Anubis, then?"

"What?"

 "Anubis is the ancient god whose head was that of a jackal's."

Paxton's words rushed back into his skull. _They call themselves gods._ It was just as he had been told. His mentor displayed no reaction to the interrogation and sat calmly puffing away at his cigarettes. _Then is it true?_ Joren thought. _They think they're gods?_

A rhythmic tapping sound was produced as Yukishiro drummed his fingers on the desk. "Let me ask you, Jack. Do you fancy yourself a god?"

How was a mere mortal like he supposed to answer that blasphemous question? If anything, Joren considered himself like an angel who was cast out from heaven the moment he sought hatred and revenge for his kindred. He was not worthy of wings, any wings—whether demon or angel. What egos did these men have? What fading humility?

"I don't really know, Sir. It all depends if I ever learn the mysteries of the universe. A god would know, wouldn't you say?"

The tapping ceased. "Yes, I suppose a god would know."

~~

When Joren looked back on that day, he shuddered to think what might have happened to Coram and him if he'd failed to get into Yukishiro's good graces. He also cringed, remembering the crime committed that very night by his hands. He'd never told anyone what had happened those lost nights. They wouldn't believe it anyway.

He could still see the terror on the man's face, the first man, as his house was raided right in front of his eyes. The loan had gone unpaid. It was no one's fault except his own, Joren reasoned. The man should have known better than to accept a loan from Yukishiro. Non-profit organizations existed to help those with financial problems. Joren couldn't figure out the reason why he was defending their actions. He didn't mean to. No man deserved being terrorized like that.

Did men and women out in the city suffer everyday because they made desperate choices and refused to ask for help from those who wanted to help them? Joren remembered how his pride caused him to refuse help. The heated passion he had for survival and revenge had effects on his attitudes toward benefactors. He disrespected them and ran away.

His passion for revenge had taken a twisted form. He used his job to beat down the corrupted, yet he left those men who had ruined his life alone in Galla. Psychiatrists could easily accuse him of harboring a fear for these men, though it was obvious that Joren could best them. 

_Men like that bribe their way out. And if I were to_ kill _them…_ He gently separated himself from that thought. His parents would not approve of revenge in their honor being so bloody. Even if it was justly deserved. And yet he had broken that rule too.

~~

The nightclub was loud, dark, and reeked of sin. The throbbing bass from the stage's speakers made his body throb as well. The heat from moving and grinding bodies created a thick humidity in the air. Sweat trickled down the small of his back. He focused on the music. Heavy rock like this always incited a primal feeling in him. The beat pounded in time with the blood in his veins. He could go out and kill a lion right then and there. There was too much energy, but not like adrenalin. This was beyond that. He was so filled to the brim with energy that he moved slowly so as not to spill a drop. 

He sat at the bar with a plastic cup filled with beer. Coram would meet him soon, according to earlier stipulations. He meant to tell Joren about his upcoming opponents in future races. Last week, Coram had pulled a muscle in the same leg that made him limp. It had happened when he and Joren were jumping a metal fence, en route to the "getaway car." 

Four months had officially passed since his descent into this world within a world. Joren felt like he was losing a little more of himself every day. His character settled in him like a parasite. He was starting to think and act like that fake identity, without even forcing it. It scared him. What scared him even more was that no one had toppled him in the races. He wanted to be defeated, so badly. Just so he could fall out of the limelight that Yukishiro placed on his winners—an excuse to escape from the intoxicating thrills of their world.

Coram wouldn't be the one to finally take the coveted spot on the podium. He had abandoned all plans that year to race due to his injuries. He miraculously maintained his status with the white-haired man in charge. Truly, he would have slipped to the bottom of the ladder, yet Yukishiro secretly continued to use him as an incentive for Joren to do as he was told. 

The incentive was useless. Paxton would always be there to make sure Joren didn't chicken out. He had faith in his stubborn Golden Boy that all would end well. The older agent was steadily gaining information. He would piece together bits of evidence that incriminated Yukishiro. But then they would disappear as soon as he found them. There was no plot that assured them a chance of catching Yukishiro red-handed. 

The older man went along on only half of the horrible tasks that were assigned to Joren. His body, though very fit, just didn't perform as well as the other, younger man's body did. Joren feared that Paxton subconsciously hated him for being young and vibrant. The building tension between the two partners would cause an explosion soon.

A few minutes passed. When the flame-headed racer finally wound up at the bar, he was flexing his right hand and cursing. He yelled uncharacteristically for a beer (it was uncharacteristic for him to yell) and sat down on the next stool. His injured leg, out of habit, was elevated and rested upon the foot bar of Joren's stool beside him. 

"What happened?"

"Ye wouldn't believe it. One o' my best buddies accused me of cheating. Ya know, talkin' to ye as I have about their racing styles. I couldn't believe his nerve! I don't get to race this year, and even if I was, it's not like I still wouldn't help ya!"

Joren shrugged. "Would you still, knowing that I was competition?"

Coram drank a large gulp of his beer. "O' course! I've done it before. I helped Mitch all last year."

"But you still win."

"I never raced Mitch. He ran the shorter courses. _He_ won."

Joren held back from pointing out the hypocrisy of the reasoning. He would most likely race his friend if he had to, and win. It all came down to necessity. It was absolutely necessary for Joren to win. If he had to beat Coram, he would without a second thought. After all these months, he still didn't see how Yukishiro could determine half his close companions by their racing success. There was no trend that said racers made excellent thugs. Coram's heart was certainly not in it. He did it by obligation.

"Ye know that guy from Tuesday?" Coram asked.

"What guy?"

"Ye know… that _guy_."

Joren remained quiet for a few seconds. "Oh. Right. What about him?"

"Finally kicked the bucket. They pulled the plug this mornin'. No sense in keeping a vegetable around." He drank another sip. "Sometimes, I wish…"

"Don't start that. More of that and you-know-who can just snap his fingers and we'll be gone." Joren finished his beer. He turned around on his stool so he could face the groups of bodies swaying and dancing to the loud deafening music. Coram was left alone to his thoughts.

A girl quite randomly noticed Joren from her place at the edge of the throng. She approached him, swaying her hips seductively in front of his eyes. Her lips parted, and a tongue darted out to wet them. Joren glanced at his companion, who was oblivious to the world at the moment. With very little enthusiasm to dance, but great ardency to escape his horrible life, he got up and followed her into the dancing crowd.

His friend, still at the bar, started to watch him for as long as he could. The younger man appeared halfway drunk, or halfway hopeless. His body moved freely with the girl's, quite explicitly. It seemed as if he didn't care anymore. The flirting would take his mind off all his troubles. And yet, his troubles would only pile themselves on even more than before. Even the song mirrored his dead-to-the-world thoughts.

_I am watching your eyes   
And follow my salvation   
There's so much shit around me   
Such a lack of compassion_

Joren rested his hands on the girl's gyrating hips while her arms were entwined about his neck. Her mouth softly trailed across his collarbone. He could care less.

_I thought it would be fun and games   
(it would be fun and games)   
Instead it's all the same   
(it's all the same)   
I want something to do   
Need to feel nothingness   
In You _

He didn't consider himself promiscuous. Paxton encouraged him often to do as other men his age did. If Joren happened to use those activities to distract him from his own pain, then so be it. In defiance to his own guilty thoughts, he pulled the girl closer in the middle of their scandalous dancing.

_I feel the reason, as it's leaving me   
No, not again   
It's quite deceiving, as I'm feeling   
The flesh made be bad _

_All I do is look 4 U   
And when I fix you   
Needed to, just to get some sort of attention   
Attention_

He would receive no attention there. Ten dozen other last-minute couples were doing the same, all throwing caution to the wind. They lived recklessly in the moment, only to feel pleasure and no pain. It was a natural high. Joren could feel himself spiraling to the top, like riding a cloud to a mountain summit.

_What does it mean to you   
For me, it's something I just do   
I want something   
I need to feel the sickness in you _

The girl leaned up and whispered huskily into his ear. He couldn't make out anything she was saying, but took a guess when she started to cup his crotch. He gasped slightly at the contact, and she laughed. He weighed his options and thought it didn't matter.

_I feel the reason, as it's leaving me   
No, not again   
It's quite deceiving, as I'm feeling   
The flesh made be bad_

_~~_

Author: Phew! I know, I know. FINALLY! When I discovered that episode 8 was over the limit on file size, I decided to delete the plans I had for episode 9, and put the second half of into episode 8 _into_ what would have been episode 9. So here we are! "Welcome to the Killing Grounds" is one of the seediest little things I've written, but I've been in this deep trend thanks to school reading materials. I hope I've pleased you all.

I know. More focus on Joren. I told you guys before that he would _own_ this season, just as Keladry owned the last one. Please tell me what you think about the absolute truth on our resident "bad boy". 

Episode 8 and 9 are my "English teacher influence" episodes. Out of all the things I've written, these two have the most hidden meaning and all that other figurative language crap. I felt like I was writing a novel, so I added some other things to kick that idea out. Can _you_ interpret the episode meanings?

Episode 9 will be coming very, very soon. I've decided to hold it back for a while, just to tweak it and make it into the best piece of anything I've ever written. Well. Okay, maybe not, but just better than before. Thank you for reading!

© 2002 Sulia Serafine


	9. Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part II

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 9:**

**Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part II**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…) as well as serious adult themes!  I want everyone to know I don't advocate smoking or tobacco use of any kind. Neither do I advocate drinking or any other sort of shady activity featured in this story. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. : )_****

Author's note: that typo that everyone keeps pointing out in their reviews was intentional. That'll give you something to think about, huh? *smiles*

~~

Still in flashback:

Joren woke up. His eyes immediately turned to his digital clock, which read three A.M. He moved his arm to turn the clock away, but, lying on his stomach, he discovered that his arm was weighed down. He blinked in the darkness. Then he shifted his whole body onto his side and discovered an extra arm draped over his bare backside.

He closed his eyes and cursed himself. Then he sighed in resignation and went back to sleep. There was nothing else to do. Very rarely did he take a lover. And the reasons were never psychologically healthy; he felt so dead inside that he didn't care. These women came and went. There were no emotional attachments, thankfully, and he usually never saw them again.

In the morning, the nameless girl (he hoped it was Sarah, because that was the first name to pop into his head) found a dress shirt of his and put it on. She walked about his apartment barefooted. She also searched through his refrigerator for a bottle of water. Joren possessed no anxiety about her possibly stealing anything of his. He never kept anything of value with him. His valuables were in Paxton's apartment next door.

The two undercover operatives lived above a drugstore that Yukishiro owned. Paxton had been reluctant to accept, but refusing the offer would be an insult. To that day, they still felt nervous about talking to each other about their mission, despite having found no cameras or eavesdropping devices such as wires. This had been the start of their uneasy silences, which he spent thinking of possible lives that were quite impossible.

Joren splashed water on his face to wake himself up. He felt his chin and discovered he was in need of a shave. He picked up his razor.

There was a knock at the door. Joren turned off the faucet and exited the bathroom. The girl hopefully called Sarah had already answered the door. There on the threshold stood Kimmy, incredibly embarrassed. She made a move to run away, but Joren called her back.

Hopefully-Sarah frowned and shot Joren a jealous look. What in the world was there to be jealous of? Kimmy was a teenager. She was a _skinny and shy_ teen; that was all. He groaned to himself and rolled his eyes. "It's just business. She's a messenger. Go make breakfast or something."

"Why don't you go put on pants or something," she retorted saucily and went to the kitchenette. 

Joren looked down. _Boxers. Oops._ He smiled apologetically and jogged to his dresser for a pair of pants. While he searched the mess on his floor for something decent to wear, he invited Kimmy to sit down on the sofa. The adopted little sister of Coram overcame her bashfulness and sat nervously at the edge of the cushion. 

"You want orange juice, honey?" 

Kimmy jumped a little at the innocuous question imposed on her from the older woman. "Um… sure. Thanks… uh, what's your name?"

"Julia."

_Damn. I was totally off. Sounds nothing like Sarah,_ Joren thought. After putting on a suitable pair of sweatpants, he yanked a white tank top over his head and headed to the sofa. He passed by Julia and took the two glasses of orange juice. Then he handed one to Kimmy while sipping on his own. "So, what did flame-head say?"

"Nothing," She replied in her little voice. "Mr. Yukishiro asked if I would go. Coram doesn't know I'm here."

Joren set his glass down on the coffee table. It was odd for Kimmy to be delivering messages if Coram didn't know. He glanced over at Julia, who was busy making toast and scrambled eggs. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "What did he say?"

She looked down at her drink. "At the end of the week, go to McGinty's and be ready to race. Don't tell anyone, even Mr. Delacroix and Coram."

It was an odd message to send. And why would Enishi send Kimmy if the secret had to be kept from Coram? Why couldn't he tell them? The unanswered questions annoyed him. He had to be ready to race, yet no races were scheduled at McGinty's at the end of the week. Private race invitations weren't even private. Everyone knew when a race was going on, private or public. Was this another test he had to pass to prove his loyalty?

"I'll be there."

Kimmy finished her orange juice and left. She thanked Julia politely and the other woman smiled at her. Joren put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. One problem after another continued to barrel his way. It was his fault for settling so comfortably into this lifestyle. He still had a job to do. _How could I have forgotten that? I am an officer of the DJPF above all. When it's over, I'll cart these bastards to jail. And Jack Winston will disappear._

The cushion he sat on moved by the weight of someone else, indicating that his guest had joined him on the sofa. Soft hands began massaging his back, easing his tired muscles. She kissed the back of his neck. "Something wrong, baby?"

"Try everything," he muttered.

Julia crawled under his arm and into his lap. Joren was forced to lift his head and wrap his arm around her lest she fall. He took notice for the first time how unlike other women of lower Tusaine she actually resembled. Her face lacked makeup, but a fair unspoiled complexion and soft features made her radiant. Her hair was soft and curved into gentle strawberry blonde waves. He began to speak to tell her to get out—all for the best, anyway--, but before he could, she shushed him and showered his face with more feathery kisses.

He closed his eyes again and sighed. 

"Just forget about everything for a while," she crooned.

_Isn't that what I've been doing all along?_

~~

The end of the week approached all too fast. He could swear it had only been Monday—when Kimmy visited—merely yesterday. Friday had sneaked up on him like a thief in the night. He managed not to tell anyone about Yukishiro's private invitation. Every time he saw Kimmy, they stared at each other furtively. Obviously, she was having problems keeping the secret from Coram, especially since she had been sent on more frequent message deliveries to Joren over the week from Yukishiro.

"Joren."

His own name. When was the last time Paxton risked saying his real name? 

"Who died?"

"What?"

"Has to be something serious if you're using that name, _Mark_," Joren replied.

Paxton shook his head. He lifted a bit of meat to his mouth with his fork. They were eating dinner at his apartment, talking about the latest piece of solid evidence to slip from their grasp. He spoke. "No, actually, I have a… _fatherly-type_ question for you."

Joren stared at him. _This ought to be amusing._ He put down his glass and shrugged. "Ask away."

"Don't sleep with Kimmy."

_Whoa._ Joren could have killed him or he could have laughed so hard he killed himself. "Number one, Pax, that's an assumption, not a question. Number two, I am not sleeping with Kimmy! She's a kid!"

Paxton appeared instantly relieved. Joren cut his meat, pressing a little too hard so that his knife scraped against the plate. 

"Well, what was that noise I heard ten minutes after I saw her go into your place?"

Joren groaned. He set down his eating utensils on the edge of his plate. "Monday?"

"Yeah."

"I had another guest."

Paxton slammed his fork down on the table. "You had sex with some tramp in front of a kid?!"

"Argh! She left before then!" Joren yelled back. "And what I do on my own personal time is none of your damn business!"

"We came here to do a job!"

"_You_'re the one who told _me_ to act like all the other racers," Joren snapped. He put down his fork and knife as well. "They expect the guy who wins the races to be 'socially' active! I mean, even Coram's admitted to being pressured into some stupid affairs."

The older man stood up from the table. He took a deep breath and started picking up the empty glasses and plates. "Sometimes I forget you're still a young man with hormones."

"I'm 20. That's not too young. It's old enough for a lot of things." The rest was left unsaid.

After dinner, Joren's focus turned to his meeting with Yukishiro at McGinty's. He left Paxton's place and rode through the dark streets. He had an hour before he had to meet him, and he used the time to think about his life as of recent. The space between him and his mentor increased at times, and decreased other times. Just when Joren thought he could no longer respect Paxton's advice, something would happen to him where the only reasoning that made sense was that of the older man.

It made sense. It always made sense in the end. Often, many sons rebelled against their fathers, only to discover that their fathers were right. Joren hated Paxton sometimes, but who didn't hate his father-figure at some point or another?

McGinty's track was unlit and pitch black. Joren prayed absently to whatever deity was listening that neither Paxton nor Coram attempted to find him at the usual club that night. Kimmy would try to stall her guardian, but he listened to her less and less. It was only a matter of time before he didn't politely ask her at all.

_Stay away. Just stay away for your own good._

He dismounted from his motorcycle and watched a streetlight burst into illumination overhead. He examined his surroundings. His shadow remained his only company.  A certain chance existed that he could be early. Wouldn't there at least be another rider besides him? So he stood, unsure of his next move.

The wind picked up. His hair blew over the top his face. As he shut his eyes and brushed the strands away, Joren sensed something else. He kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds. When he finally opened them, the first thing he saw surprised him despite his mental preparation.

"No way," he murmured. He stepped forward. His hands shyly reached forward to feel the new motorcycle in front of him. His own sitting next to it, looked so old compared to the epitome of mechanical beauty in front of him.

It was one of the newer models. The seat dipped down low, and the rider would lean forward with his chest pressed against the rise, lying almost flat on his stomach with his legs tucked in close. It could have been a hoverbike (it looked _so_ good), but there the wheels were. And there was Joren's fascination. His hands returned to feeling the handles, feeling the curve of the seat. He had secretly harbored thoughts as a boy of owning a machine as sleek and top of the line as this. 

He remembered a competitor and friend of his father. The man was rude and very abrasive whenever he came to visit his chum. He always ruffled Joren's hair badly whenever he saw him so that Joren would be stuck with a cowlick sort of appearance. But the man owned one of the newest racing motorcycles around; he was a sponsored racer. Joren often looked for him when he attended his father's races, just to see the motorcycle.

"You like what you see, my towheaded friend?"

_More than you think._ Joren knew the voice before he even looked. "Is it yours?"

Yukishiro joined him at his side. "Yes. I'd trade, though, if you wanted to."

"Sorry. I'm keeping the one I have. Family thing." As much as the idea pleased him and set his nerves on fire, he couldn't accept. His father's motorcycle was all he had left of his parents. Memories were nothing compared to something he could feel under his palms.

"Good decision. I daresay I could never find one of those in the world today. Quite a collector's item." He walked past Joren and mounted his novel and popular bike. He wore casual clothing like Joren's, instead of his usual suit. Joren had never seen the infamous man actually on the track, let alone racing. It changed the way he normally saw the man—yes, he admitted to comparing him to a god, just as Yukishiro had done himself. Yukishiro wasn't above him, looking down on Joren just as when they'd first met. He was here, at his level.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Are you going to do the same or not?" The silver-white haired man picked up a helmet that matched the non-color of his hair. "The night is still young while the new gods roam."

Joren hesitantly circled around him and got onto the Black Knight. Anything he had ever pieced together about the man beside him slowly disintegrated.  He didn't know how Yukishiro could possess all this and be capable of so much more. He was indeed godlike in so many ways. It shamed Joren to think that way, but all he'd ever seen of the man invoked these thoughts.

The machine roared to life. Not his, but the one he shamefully coveted. He looked up.

"Come, Young Anubis."

Joren resisted the urge to follow suit. "Tell me something first."

He was met by a pleasant surprise. Enishi smiled, as if he wanted to be asked. He knew what to expect from this boy pretending to be a man. The boy himself never suspected; he couldn't _imagine_ that he could be second-guessed.

"Where's the money, Yukishiro?" Joren asked flatly.A low chuckle sounded deep from within Yukishiro's throat. He stepped back. Paxton warned him time and time again to go about interrogating suspects with caution. Joren was so frustrated and impatient that he didn't care anymore. Yukishiro baffled him. Why did he call Joren out here? So many details contradicted each other.

"Please call me Enishi, now. But what money, Jack?" Enishi asked with a broad grin, fearless of the implications.

"Stop messing around," Joren hissed. "I heard you might have received a load of money from a missing armory truck."

Enishi sighed. "You're a greedy one, aren't you?" He regarded Joren with disappointment. "I called you here for fun, not because I wished to discuss business."

"Why _did_ you call me up here?"

"You have done a lot for me, not to mention your success on the racetrack."

The reason was a lousy one, Joren decided. He wanted to hit the other man over the head with his helmet. "Did you ever invite Coram to a private one-on-one race?"

The other man scoffed. "No. I've considered it, but I don't think he trusts me."

Joren glared at him before putting on his own helmet. "I don't blame him. What makes you think _I_ trust you? _You_ don't trust _me_ enough to say anything about the money."

He was pushing it. He knew this. A demon inside him was blowing his cover. He sensed it happening to him, but couldn't restrain himself at all. He was sick of this mission. He was disgusted with himself every day when he awoke. A punch should have come. A bullet from a crony in the shadows should have come. The penalty for insult like this had to be horrible. Yet Enishi remained composed. 

In fact, he looked strangely content. 

"I never said I trusted you. My reasons are my own." He clucked his tongue. "I'm going to ask you to do something two, maybe three months from now. If you do it, I'll give you a large cut of the money. I might even give you my share."

A chill crept up Joren's spine. "What do I do until then?"

"Race." And with that, he put on his helmet and sped off. Joren cursed and went after him. He contemplated whether or not he would have shot Enishi right then, if he'd had his gun. The answer was yes.

Two months and he was free of any evil job that Enishi would have set upon him. Should he tell anyone? He wanted to tell Paxton about the money. He wanted Coram to give him advice. Could he? Should he? Despite all common sense, he knew he would never tell those closest to him. If Enishi backed out on the deal, it was wise just to act like nothing had happened. Paxton was having a wonderful time, acting as if he was doing the best of the investigation while Joren had his play at racing.

Joren leaned into the curve, watching the man speeding in front of him with hatred.

~~

"Does it hurt?"

"Physical therapy? No, no. It's gettin' better."

Coram stretched his leg in front of him. He gazed longingly at the dance floor. Restlessness had vexed him for weeks. Anyone could observe that he missed moving about freely, whether to dance or to race. He sighed. "I can't stand this."

Joren pitied his friend. "It won't be much longer."

It really shouldn't be this long. I can't stand it much worse than Cor.

While Joren's jobs from Enishi ceased, so had Coram's. His injured friend hindered the rest of the men when they tried to move in quickly and leave just as fast. Though their work had initially stopped, they still witnessed far too much. Whenever Joren spotted the black ski mask on his dresser, lying unused, he shuddered. It was a comfort, he supposed, not to commit those terrible deeds. The last time he had spilled any blood, it had been when he nicked himself shaving. 

When that had happened, he had stared at the single drop of bright color for nearly a whole minute. It had been a while since he knew the color of his insides.  And then, Julia had come over to the bathroom, wiped it off his chin, and put a tiny piece of tissue on it. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he allowed her to stay whenever she wanted. There was nothing emotional between them. That was clear from the first day. She cooked for him, annoyed Paxton with her presence, and teased Coram with her coyness.

She was visiting again one night, bringing Chinese take-out and a merry tune in her voice. 

"Mmm… Hey, try this." She went around the coffee table on her knees, holding up a piece of food with her chopsticks. Joren regarded it with skepticism before opening his mouth and allowing her to place it on his tongue.

He chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. Her expectant expression prompted him to reply. "It's okay."

"Okay? That's the best thing I've tasted since my cousin came and cooked for me!"

Joren wiped his mouth with a napkin. He went back to eating as if he had only a limited amount of time left. "I don't care about the food, as long as it's edible."

She snorted. "Well, I hope my food is more than edible to you. I put a lot of work into that so it tastes delicious."

"Damn it, would you stop that?!" he yelled and slammed his fist down on the table. At first, she was scared and wide-eyed at his outburst, but then she mustered up her courage.

"Stop what?" she demanded just as fiercely.

"Stop acting like this is a real relationship. I hate it when you do that," he groused. He stabbed at his food to punctuate his remarks. "You know exactly what all this is and so do I."

Julia didn't respond. They finished dinner in silence. Fifteen minutes went by. Julia placed the food cartons in the trash and cleared the table. He turned on the holoscreen and began watching the news. She eventually joined him on the sofa, leaning against him as if they'd never fought at all.

The phone rang. Joren got up and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Enjoying your months of freedom?"

He could swear his heart had skipped a beat. The smooth voice of Enishi Yukishiro continued.

"I'm calling in my favor. And then the money is yours, my Young Jackal."

Joren glanced over his shoulder at Julia, who was still watching the news without any attention to him. He lowered his voice anyway. "What is it?"

"You're going to get some sleep now, wake up at one in the morning, and go to Bailey's place. He'll fill you in."

"What do I tell Mark?"

Enishi laughed. "Tell him whatever the hell you want. Make some noise with that woman of yours. That ought to keep him from knocking on your door."

He gritted his teeth. "I never told you about her."

"You didn't have to. Gods see and know all, don't they?"

Joren slammed down the phone on its hook. He cursed under his breath and marched to his bathroom to prepare for bed. He slammed everything about as he went through his nightly routine, knocking items onto the floor. A few moments later, Julia was at the door of his bathroom, concerned.

"Calm down. You're going to damage your stuff." She picked up a stick of deodorant from the floor and began sorting the mess. He stared at her blankly.

Without a word, he left the bathroom and undressed for bed. He peeled off his T-shirt and threw it in the direction of his closet. Joren turned off the light and stood beside his bed, running his hands nervously down his face. Daunting premonitions about the job that night made his expression grim. He crawled beneath the covers of the bed, wondering if he was going to regret ever accepting Paxton's mission and Buri's terms. 

Julia leaned on the bathroom doorframe, wringing her hands. "Jack—"

"Stop that," he warned. He buried his head under a pillow and turned his back on her.  "Either shut up or get out."

She bit her lip. It seemed that she was torn between doing either, despite their lack of a relationship. Finally, she undressed and got into bed with him, pressing herself against his backside and encircling his waist with her arms. She remained silent.

Joren did not fall asleep for a long time. He shut his eyes and thought of a winding road in Gala that went through the grassy hills. When he was young, he would steal out at night on his motorbike, just to be moving. He imagined that one day, he would spend all his time traveling—not just racing. He liked racing. It was the only thing he had ever known. 

But oh, to travel. He wouldn't do it for the beautiful scenery, or the thrill of meeting new people. He simply wanted to be moving all the time. It was the wanderlust in him that he had lost when his home was burned down. Moving to Tortall wasn't traveling. It was an obligatory action.

He wasn't obliged to do anything but take revenge on the world's worst. His wanderlust was replaced by a dedication to justice. Not pure justice. He didn't like those idealists who didn't see the reality in things. You had to play dirty to beat them at their own game. But unlike them, he knew he was doing it for the good guys.

The pillow was eventually moved back under his head. The pocket of warmth he had created underneath it was gone. He looked around in the darkness and to his dismay, noticed that he'd made his own life.

The arm around him moved. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Julia was still deeply asleep. She had been partly responsible for all this. She wasn't supposed to have been good at heart. It was meant to be just one night. Just one. He'd been halfway drunk with hopelessness. He still was, and had his fun pretending to be sober of it all. Carefully, he turned around under the sheets so Julia's head was cradled against his chest.

"You were supposed to be one of them. In and out of my life, just like them," he whispered as he cried. He muffled his whimper with a hand over his mouth and wiped angrily at his moist eyelashes. Julia remained asleep.

At one in the morning, Joren was already awake. He gently removed Julia's arms from his body and slid off the bed so he wouldn't wake her up. It had been a bad move to allow her this far past his boundaries. Coram never overstepped the limits. Paxton didn't _want_ to. Why did she?

He thought briefly of waking her and saying goodbye. Since proper goodbyes were against his religion, he didn't.

He dressed without a sound. Sneaking out was not a problem. He left through the fire escape and rode away on his motorcycle. It didn't take but several minutes to go to Bailey's apartment. He was a hoverbike racer that Enishi had also chosen as one of his elite. He looked for the familiar brownstone building. The air was cold. This was the time when people were in their homes, warm in bed, not out on the streets plotting mischief.

Voices floated through the air, originating from an alley. Joren got off his bike and entered the shadowed place. A hand shot forward and grabbed a fistful of Joren's shirt. He didn't have a chance to react.

"Hey! Oh, Jack. It's just you." Mitchell Gratz had balled up his fist, ready to strike. He greeted Joren with a slap on the back and led him toward the group of men standing outside of Bailey's home, Bailey included. It was the usual assortment of men that Joren had done jobs with before.

Someone was missing.

"So where's Coram? Isn't he going to drive, at least?"

The rest of them turned and stared at him like he'd grown another head. He almost reached up to his shoulder to check. Gratz leaned forward and frowned. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

A former boxer named Noack cursed. He had a nose that always looked broken, but large dark eyes like an optometrist Joren had seen once. The optometrist had charged his customers more than he should have, and that was what Noack always reminded him of. "I knew he wouldn't show up if he knew what was going down!"

Joren frowned. "Enishi told me you guys would fill me in."

Bailey came forward, smothering his cigarette under his shoe. He was about five years younger than Paxton, with a crown of light brown hair. He motioned for Joren to lower his head toward him. The man spoke in hushed tones.

"It's the Purge of the Unfaithful. It's time to get rid of those assholes who would betray Yukishiro."

_Oh, fuck._

If it were at all possible, Joren could have keeled over right then and there. So maybe Yukishiro had found out the truth about Paxton and him. He was going to die after all those months of work. To worsen his situation, he knew he was surrounded by faithful Enishi-cronies. There was no point in trying to fight, or flee. He would be able to only shoot half of them before they got him. He wasn't that great a miracle-worker. He was certainly no James Bond, though he only needed experience to remedy that. Now what was he to do? He stood up straight, shaking his head. "No…"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Gratz nodded. "Who'd be stupid enough to try and backstab _him_?"

"I mean, no…" Joren's head was a mess of confused, anxious thoughts. _Don't blow your cover, dumb ass_, he told himself. _They don't know._ Before he started to sound suspicious, he took a deep breath and forced more lies from his mouth. "I mean, no… what does that have to do with Coram?"

Bailey sighed. "He's on the list."

"No fucking way," he breathed.

Noack piped up again. "He ain't doing it. Jack's chickening out."

Joren turned his head sharply toward the offending speaker. "Screw you," he spat. Joren paused. The idea was revolting, but did he have a choice? "I'm doing it."

"You know," Gratz began, "you don't have to shoot him. We've got our orders to cover this up… position them like they shot each other… but Coram doesn't hang out with the rest of them. You can just burn his place down while he's sleeping. Won't have to face him!" He shrugged, hoping the offer pleased Joren. "I have gasoline in my trunk. You can take it."

He ran to fetch the container. Someone offered a lighter. 

Joren closed his eyes. He thought long and hard about the decision that was in front of him. When he opened his eyes, he nodded. "Okay. Fine." He accepted the lighter and Gratz was already strapping the gasoline to the back of the Black Knight.

_Just like me to choose the coward's way out._

"Page us when the place is ablaze," Bailey commanded. The other men nodded to Joren in sympathy. They knew that Coram and Joren had become comrades. Words of sympathy almost formed, but they remembered who they were and stopped. They all had to kill comrades that night, but they also cared more about their own hides than anyone else's. 

Noack stared Joren straight in the eye. "I don't think you'll do it."

Joren growled. He shouted, at the end of his rope, "Would you stop being such a damned ass!? I said I was going to do it, and I will!"

"How do I know that?"

"Because you do."

"You're a smart ass punk."

"Rather be a punk than a prick."

The other man sneered at him and departed with the rest. Joren took a deep breath and moved backward until he was leaning against the brownstone building. He ran his calloused hands over his face, asking himself how he was going to get the guts to perform his task. He checked the time on his pager. Coram and Kimmy would definitely be asleep. Maybe they wouldn't feel a thing. Perhaps they'd stay asleep until the very end.

But he knew that wasn't true. When the first flame appeared on the bedspread, Coram would awake and he would die, suffering great pain and anguish. Joren slammed his fist against the brick he leaned upon. He bruised his knuckles, and felt no better. 

"It's not fair," he muttered, almost childishly and just as futilely. 

He forced his legs to carry him over to his motorcycle. He mounted and started it up. The vehicle roared to life once again. He would murder his friend to please his enemy. Because Joren was playing a game of pretend and he _was_ the enemy. It was for the best that a few good men should die so that ring of hell could be torn down and built over. Where there once was a whorehouse could be an elementary school, where children would run across a floor and not know a man had died there, bleeding from his head.

When he reached Coram's residence, Joren wondered what could be built over it. New life could always spring from ashes. There were trees nearby, dying of disease and neglect. Maybe the city would have an empty lot, and plant trees. Children could play there, too. Maybe people could walk their dogs there. His mother had liked dogs.

He looked up at the dark windows. Coram's car was sitting by the curb, its raggedness reminding him of an old man who desperately wanted eternal rest. 

"Easy enough," he said to himself. He thought of the red gasoline container strapped to the back of his bike and removed it. He climbed up the fire escape, and tried to remember which windows didn't lead to bedrooms. He found one that suited him and broke the lock, lifting it up by the bottom and shoving it the rest of the way up.

He shimmied through the narrow opening with the gasoline container, spilling the clear, smelly liquid as he walked down the hall. The muscles in his arm stiffened out of tension. He set down the container on a chair and looked around.

_After this I'm home free. I'll have the evidence to lock up that guy who thinks he's a friggin' god…_

Joren looked around the living room. He spotted a photograph framed on the wall. In the picture, Coram posed with a woman whom Joren had never seen before, and a younger Kimmy. They were at a carnival. Kimmy held onto the string of bright yellow balloon. Coram held a box of popcorn in one hand.  The woman held a large stuffed animal in her arms. They appeared to be the epitome of a happy family. 

That could have been _his_ family.

He cried out as if someone had struck him right there and then. He couldn't do this. Not like this. Leaving the gasoline where it was, he dashed toward the window again and left.

~~

Three quarters of an hour later, Coram awoke to someone shaking him hard by the shoulder. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, afraid that it was Kimmy, having seen something like a burglar in their home. He was even more stunned when his vision focused and he saw Joren standing over him. He sat up, startled.

"Holy… what the heck are ye doing here, Jack?"

Joren grabbed his friend by the arm and hauled him out of bed. The absence of his bed sheet made Coram shiver. Goosebumps appeared on his bare chest. His peculiar racing buddy pushed him toward his closet. The racer tripped on his bed sheets. 

"Go, take a few things. Just hurry up! We have to get Kimmy and then the two of you have to leave!"

Coram grabbed a hold of the corner of his dresser and used it to support himself on his good leg. He stared at Joren as if the man he'd known for half a year was in fact, a lunatic. 

"What the heck is going on? Why do we have to leave?" He sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"

He watched as Joren lifted the gasoline container and thoroughly soaked his bed.

"What the… Jack! What are ye doin'?!"

The blonde man set the container on top of the bed. His face was full of more emotion than Coram had ever seen. There was sorrow and regret and all the other emotions that weren't supposed to live in him. "He ordered me to kill you, Cor. He ordered me to kill you!" He pointed to the closet. "Get your money, grab some clothing, and wake up Kimmy. I have to burn this place down. All of it."

Coram stood dumbfounded, his mouth open wide in disbelief. Joren yelled at him again in a raw voice that was filled with desperation and anxiety. It shocked the other man into his senses. He yanked a jacket from a closet hanger and went through his bottom drawer for his money stash. When he'd gotten some of his belongings gathered, he stood up and fearfully questioned Joren.

"Jack, if we leave, where will we go?"

"Just get Kimmy!" Joren ordered as he dumped gasoline all about the room. The container was empty. Joren preceded Coram into the hall and picked up another gasoline container. This time, both men went to Kimmy's room. He allowed Coram to rouse the teenage girl and explain to her what was going on.

Once again he busied himself with soaking the room with the foul smelling liquid. He heard crying behind him and knew that the girl was becoming very distressed at the idea of being burned alive. Coram pulled her out of bed and helped her gather a few of her belongings. Joren urged them to hurry, his hands still shaking as he poured the gasoline everywhere. There was no spare time for hesitation. The task had to be done.

"Grab that last container and start splashing the living room," Joren ordered. 

"Right," Coram nodded. He handed his things to Kimmy, who was still sobbing pitifully. He ran past his coffee table and started dousing the kitchen, with its easily burning wooden cupboards. He spotted something large and black behind his couch. Joren went behind the couch and started to drag one of the two black things forth.

Coram squinted in the dim moonlight. When he recognized the large objects that Joren was dragging toward the bedrooms, he gasped. "Ye stole cadavers from the hospital? Are ye out of yer mind?!"

The cadavers were meant to help new surgeons learn their practice. Tonight, they were meant to help give new life to two people Joren wanted to see free of it all. Joren wiped the sweat off his brow. He grunted as he lifted the corners of the body bag again. "Get the other end!"

"I'm not touchin' any corpse!" Coram cried.

"You won't have to! I will," Joren snapped. "Now get on the other end!"

Coram was reluctant, but Joren was impatient. And the impatience was much more violent, so he didn't have a choice. Together, the two men transported the first cadaver into Coram's bedroom. They grunted with the effort, and had to set it down more than once to catch their breaths. They heaved the cadaver in its body bag onto the bed. 

"This isn't going to work!"

"Yes it will." Joren began unzipping the body bag. He could hear his friend begin to curse and back away from the bed. "Everyone knows you live here. The bodies will be burnt and charred. The coroners won't examine the bodies thoroughly." He paused. "They're lazy after living in _this_ town." The zipper got stuck halfway. He roughly tugged at it until it moved freely again. Bitterness caused hastiness in his movements. He freely cursed as if he were doing something as ordinarily irritating as pulling weeds.

After that he commenced to put on his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. The smell of all the gasoline fumes was getting to him, but he couldn't get out yet. 

"Go… go put the other one in Kimmy's bed. It shouldn't be that heavy."

"This is so friggin' sick," Coram muttered, feeling like he might vomit at any moment as he looked down upon the corpse that would replace him.

Joren dropped what he was doing and faced him. "Do you want to die then? Just shut up and do it!"

Coram rubbed the back of his neck nervously and left the room. Joren calmed his nerves as much as he could before he returned to his task. He lifted the body out of the bag and placed it onto the bed sheets. The body was very cold from the freezer. Joren could feel ice through his gloves. The blue tinge in the skin, combined with the slight yellow haze that showed the body wanted to decay. 

For a moment, Joren caught the eyes of the corpse, staring at him. He shook his head.

"Creepy," he muttered. He freed the body from the bag and shoved the bag to the floor. He'd never had to deal with disposing bodies. Handling a corpse now made him feel jumpy. 

_This isn't Night of the Living Dead. He's staying down on that bed. Not gonna rise and kill me._

He went through Coram's drawers, finding a pair of pajamas that he could put on the naked corpse, whose dignity was lost at time of death. He dreaded handling the stiff limbs and the cold flesh again. As quickly as he could, he put the pajamas on it, heaving the heavy stiff body into a sitting position. The upper body dropped down again as Joren went to put on the pants.

The fumes bothered him. If he breathed any more in, he was going to pass out from the dizziness. He silently berated himself for pouring the gasoline too early, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He finished dressing the cadaver and threw the bed sheets around him.

Joren ran back into the hall where Coram was waiting. The muscles on Coram's bare midsection twitched as if he really did have an urge to vomit. The two men exchanged tired and weary looks. The younger one forced himself forward into the teenage girl's room where his second job was awaiting him.

This cadaver was much lighter, but putting clothing on it was a more mentally grueling task. The female corpse was almost the same in age. He'd been sure to have that. But now being alone in a room with this body, trying to dress it and make it look innocent, he thought_ he _was going to lean over the side and vomit. His dizziness from the fumes wasn't helping that either. 

His hands fumbled with the buttons of the flannel pajama shirt. Out of instinctive courtesy, he averted his eyes as his hands passed over the breasts. This had once been a teenage girl, whose body was now going to save someone's life by replacing her. When he finished, he placed the covers back over the body, and over the face so he wouldn't have to see the sadness in it.

Coram and Kimmy had taken some jackets and put on their shoes. Otherwise, they were still dressed in what they'd worn to bed. Kimmy carried a few plastic bags, filled with what they could afford to take. 

"Okay, the fire escape. Let's go," he ordered. He ushered them in front of him, partly because they were the ones that needed to be rescued, and also because he didn't want them to see him stumble. Joren commanded them to go behind the dumpster and wait for him.

He threw the empty gasoline containers out with him. Gratz had agreed earlier to plant the containers and some matches on the fresh bodies that he would create that night. Joren climbed out of the window and breathed in the fresh air deeply. He leaned back in and lit a match. 

_At least Coram finally gets to escape this life._ He threw down the match and withdrew. He saw large tongues of flame flare up immediately on the soaked carpet of the hallway. Joren began climbing down the fire escape, knowing that his friends were escaping, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Joren went behind the dumpster, thinking of the dumpster he had ducked behind that first night he raced. He realized he was still wearing his fouled gloves and tugged them off, throwing them into the dumpster. He unrolled his sleeves while Coram dared to step forward into the light.

The older racer was looking up at his apartment, starting to make out the smoke from the burning windows. The girl by his side whimpered and clutched her bags closer.

Joren let out a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't go with you. Um, take you out of town, anyway. I have to meet back with those bastards." 

Coram took his eyes off the sad sight of his home and focused them on his blond friend. He nodded and turned his palms upward while he shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, hey, ye got us out."

Kimmy remained blissfully ignored. She stared up at her burning home as Coram had. 

"Yeah," Joren also shrugged. It was the default movement to do when one was unsure of everything.

Before the young operative knew what was happening, Coram had embraced him in a brotherly hug. Joren tensed at first. He awkwardly moved his arms around as well so that he returned the embrace, though weakly and shyly. They stood that way for a few moments. Joren didn't own many memories of hugging anyone. Maybe his mother, but he'd stopped hugging her when he deemed himself one of the 'big kids' and began hanging out with his racing buddies from Junior Motocross. This led to hasty kisses on the cheek before he ran out the door to join his peers. He wondered now if that had hurt his mother.

"Thank ye for everythin'," Coram said. He let go and stepped back. "No matter what ye say, ya are a good lad. Just a little trapped is all. Just a little trapped."

Joren felt tears spring to his eyes, and observed that the same was happening to his friend. They laughed to ease the pain. Joren shook his head, placing his hands in his pockets. 

"I… I don't want to be trapped. But I don't think I'll be free for a while, either."

"Ye will be."

"Hopefully." He cleared his throat. "Hey, Kim!" The girl looked up, tears still staining her cheeks. "Listen to Coram now, you hear?"

She nodded absently, and returned to her silent weeping. She would be traumatized for a long time, but he knew that she would eventually grow out of it. It took time to heal the heart. Not his, but Kimmy wasn't as far down as him. The two Tusaine refugees began to back away from Joren.

"Do you think you can get out of town okay?"

"We'll be fine. Ye take care of yerself, Jack. I want to see ye racing pro some day."

The two men smiled. And then one departed, disappearing into the shadows of the alley with the frightened girl. The other stayed until he was sure that they were gone, then slowly approached his bike. It was late at night, and though the burning apartment was bright and blazing like the bowels of hell, help wouldn't come for some time. He mounted his motorcycle and sped off, remembering to page Gratz and Bailey as soon as he was far enough.

People breezed in and out of his life all the time.

The proper goodbye had been a bonus. He'd have to forget it soon. There was no room for that sentimentality where he was going. And he knew it. There was no time to be a 'good lad.' Time only existed for opportunities and follow-throughs. And maybe the little lies that he honestly spoke when there was time to kill.

~~

When he called Bailey and told him the task was complete, Bailey ordered him to go home and sleep. Business could wait until later. Enishi wouldn't be awake at this ungodly hour, so Joren could not receive his money. Joren did as ordered although he was unhappy about waiting. He did not want to stay in this part of Tusaine any longer. He didn't feel like himself any more. 

Coram and Kimmy had departed from his life. His last guiding stars had disappeared from view and even with Paxton by his side, Joren felt like he couldn't find his way. He hated stumbling around in this darkness. He _loathed_ his mission like he loathed hell, scoundrels, and most of all, himself.

Joren parked his motorcycle at the back of the drugstore and looked up at his apartment window. His pale blue eyes saw everything around him in gray tones, like an old movie. The world was as still as death. His footsteps echoed on the concrete—the only sound in existence. Joren's breaths were silent and insignificant. Any sign of life was insignificant.

Upstairs, Joren entered his apartment and sank onto his couch. He stared at the blank wall, trying to figure out where he could have prevented this… this recent job, this mission, this _life_. He sat for what seemed like eternity. During the sixth hour of the day, the sun invaded his quiet meditation. He blinked his eyes when its blinding rays fell upon his face.

"Jack?"

He turned to Julia without a flicker of recognition. Frightened, she stayed rooted to the spot.

"I woke up hours ago and you had already left. I didn't hear you come in."

Her lover regarded her absently before he stood up and made his way toward the kitchenette. He spoke in a heartless monotone without facing her. "Get out and don't come back."

Julia's mouth opened in surprise. "What? Jack, no!" she objected. "Tell me what happened. What's wrong?"

"_I said get out!_" he bellowed in the angriest voice he had ever used on her. This time she didn't dare to respond. Overcome with fear and confusion, she could not guess what to do next. So she gathered her things as quietly as a mouse and prepared her final departure from her second home. 

She wished to tell Joren how much he meant to her. It had not been like that at first, but slowly built over time. She'd never given herself to anyone like she had to him, but his lack of affection only made her feel twice as affectionate. He never physically hurt her. He even performed gentlemanly things for her, such as pull out her chair. This sudden end shocked Julia. Some part of her had always wanted these months to go on forever. But it was not meant to be.

When she was gone, Joren put down the cup of coffee he had made for himself and stared at the door. He called himself names, so many names… and none of them were anything to be proud of. He opened the refrigerator and browsed through its contents. Joren spotted a creamer that Julia had bought the day before. The sad young man normally drank his coffee black, but black was an oppressive color that day. 

He took the creamer from the refrigerator and poured it into his coffee. The color changed to brown, like the color of dead leaves. Joren frowned.

~~

"Wake up, _Jack_. Yukishiro called me when you wouldn't pick up your damn phone. He wants to see you for lunch," Paxton said when he came through the door. He had his own key to Joren's apartment, and vice-versa.

Joren had been able to fall asleep on his couch even after the cup of coffee. He forced himself to sit up and look his mentor in the eye. "I'm getting the money from him. Should that be enough evidence to get us out of here?"

The experienced operative suddenly smiled. Then this smile ceased and he glared at his young protégé. "What did you do? That was a lot of money. If I were him, I'd want to hold onto it."

"I'll tell you later."

"No, you'll tell me now."

"The hell I will," Joren snorted and laid back down on his couch. "I'm tired, _Mark_. I've had a shitty night and I just want to sleep for a whole week." He closed his eyes and covered his face with his arm. 

Paxton sat down on the arm of the couch. His expression softened. "Do you think I never went through the same things that you have? Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what I think anymore. I'd be better off getting a lobotomy, then spending the rest of my life in some institution, drooling on my shirt." Joren removed his arm from his face and gazed upward. "You got something to say about it?"

"Yeah, I think I do." He scratched his chin. His hand reflexively strayed to his pocket to extract a cigarette and a lighter. Joren always observed him smoking when he was about to talk for an extended amount of time. It was a filthy quirk, but as comforting as a grandfather sitting on a rocking chair and smoking a pipe.

"When I was your age," Paxton began, "I had to shoot my best friend."

"What?"

"Let me finish." He lit the cigarette and took a small drag. As he breathed out, Joren habitually fanned the smoke away and stared up at him though the smoke stung his eyes. Paxton continued. "He was six years older than me, and we were pretending to be interested in some illegal drugs that had been smuggled in from the east. Gavan, my partner, blew his cover. Before, we had gone into the mission, we had agreed to do all that it took to get the drugs and arrest this smuggler.

"So he didn't blow my cover when I feigned surprise and took the drug dealer's side. Before that old fart could shoot him—and probably shoot him in the head—I shoved him aside and shot at Gavan myself. I had meant to shoot him in the torso because I knew Gavan was wearing a lead vest.

"In all the commotion, I ended up shooting him right here." Paxton tapped a muscled part where his neck met his shoulder. "Just where the vest ended. I got the drugs and the rest of my team moved in to arrest the dealer and his thugs. But Gavan suffered a large loss of blood and his body went into shock. He went into a coma."

Joren swallowed. "A wound like that couldn't put him in a coma, could it?"

"There were other complications, but I don't want to delve into those." He shook his finger knowingly at Joren. "You remind me of myself again. That's the look, alright. Just like you shot your best friend and now he's lying in some hospital bed." Jokingly, he added, "Have you been to the hospital today?"

His younger partner stiffened. "Um, no. No, of course not."

"I know. It was just a joke."

"But that's really has nothing to do with my meeting with Enishi and my possession of the money."

"Since when did you start referring to that bastard by his first name?"

"I don't know. He started insisting on it like I had just become his brother-in-law or something. I don't know why." Joren wondered about Paxton's earlier words. "Did your friend come out of the coma?"

"He did. But he might as well have died in that coma, because he was killed in a car accident a few days later. Seems Death didn't like being cheated of his winnings and sought to take him any way he could."

Did Death feel cheated that Joren had not died either, all those times during his short life? He examined his own thoughts and decided that thinking of Death as a person was foolish. There was no heaven, but there was death. And death was a part of the predestined path to hell. It was lunacy talking, and more proof that Joren was in need of that lobotomy. Paxton eventually went back to his own apartment, leaving instructions for Joren to report to him after he had received the money. Joren attempted to go back to sleep, but he stayed awake. He made himself another cup of coffee with cream and watched his holoscreen until it was noon.

The news mentioned nothing about a burning apartment.

~~

"So where's my money?"

Enishi Yukishiro chuckled at Joren's question, which sounded more like a demand. He deftly twirled a pen in his hand while he sat behind his massive desk. He pouted. "Why must it always be strictly business with you? I try to socialize, but you always shoot me down."

The answer was cold and rude, but Joren could care less if he offended the man now. 

"I want to leave. With this money, I can retire from racing. I can invest it in something else." Joren glanced over his shoulder at the usual cronies who guarded the office. The man whom Coram had once hailed during Joren's first visit to this office showed nothing to indicate he had heard of Coram's apartment burning down. Maybe they were not great friends after all.

He turned his attention back to the white-haired man in front of him. The suit was so perfectly pressed, the tie so perfectly knotted, and the shaded spectacles so perfectly perched upon his nose that Joren couldn't stand it. Did anything bad ever happen to Enishi Yukishiro? This man was the cause of Joren's grief and he wanted to strike a pleasant conversation with Joren?

"Well?" Joren spat out like a curse.

"I can't give you the money," Enishi sighed.

Joren leaned forward. His eyes glinted with untapped anger. "Why not?"

"Because you did not do as I asked," he answered with a typical air of casualness.

"What the heck are you talking about? I killed him! You wanted me to kill him and I did!"

Enishi stood up and began pacing in a slow, practiced manner. He stopped in front of his large window, basking in the sun's warmth and gazing fondly down at the city that he practically owned. He even regarded the boats on the river with the same fondness. He held out his hands, as if he were welcoming the new day into his heart. Joren sneered distastefully at the display.

"It was clever. I won't deny that. But not clever enough," Enishi finally said. He spun on his heel and put his hands on his hips. Joren glanced around again, insecurely aware that Enishi's cronies were departing from the office. He stood up, as if the seat was crawling with ants. All at once he knew he wasn't safe here any more. Damn the money, his instincts screamed, get out of there.

"I suspected that you might not go through with it. I called the coroner's office and asked them to do a thorough check. They ended up identifying the bodies through dental records. And you won't believe what they told me." Enishi smiled.

Joren paled. "Uh…"

"Well. I don't think I have to tell you then," Enishi told him. He picked up an envelope from his desk and tossed it to Joren, who caught it by the corner like he was afraid of bio-hazardous specimens hidden inside.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to deceive you. I know now that it was wrong of me, especially since it was your… Purge," Joren lied. His eyes darted back and forth from the man to the envelope as if either might explode. He backed away toward the door.

Enishi sat down at his desk again. "I'm incredibly disappointed, Jack. But I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Read the envelope when you get home. If you do what it says, I shall tell you the location of the armory truck. There will not be any affiliations of my name with the truck, nor will there ever be." He paused. "You'll like this one, I think. It requires any who participate to be exiled from my influence, since I cannot afford to be associated to the plot." He cooed the next words condescendingly to him. "And you wish to leave me and my friends ever so much. So you see? You'll like this one."

Joren nodded. He slipped the envelope inside his jacket. "I sincerely apolo-"

"Cut the crap, Jack. Just go before I lose my patience. And I would hate to do that with you of all people. I had _such hopes_ for you. All my efforts were for naught… Get out of my sight." Never had he heard such furious words from the mysterious white-haired man. Joren watched as Enishi pressed a button on his desk that caused the office doors to slide open. Joren wasted no time departing with not so much as another glance at the man who terrified him so.

_Scared?_ A voice in his head that sounded like Coram spoke to him with disdain.

Joren smiled ruefully. _I am a god-fearing man._

When he got home, he reported to Paxton and finally confessed all that had happened within the last twenty-four hours. When he was done, he lied down on the floor of his mentor's apartment and stayed there, staring at the ceiling like the depressed teenage boy that he was not.

While Paxton was hunched over the envelope and its message, Paxton spoke to Joren about the situation. He was obviously disappointed that Joren hadn't sought to confide in him earlier, but he was pleased with the turn of events.

"Pleased? You're fucking pleased? Coram and Kimmy had to sneak out of town, Pax!"

"They're safe! It is what you always wanted for them, isn't it? That they would be safe and free of this place?" He tapped the paper. "And you're this close to getting the money. All you have to do is kill the mayor."

At this, Joren looked at his mentor as if he were insane.

"Don't worry. I have a magnificent plan." He held out his hand. Joren took it. His partner pulled him up to his feet. Paxton continued, explaining his plan while the younger man stood and listened, first, in resentfulness, then, in quiet awe. While Paxton started gathering equipment for it, Joren sat down and ate dinner, watching the news a second time.

A brush fire had blazed outside Tusaine, said the anchor. Firefighters rushed to help their forest patrol counterparts. There was still no report of a burning apartment. But several bodies were found outside a bar that Joren entered once. These dead men had supposedly had a brawl, and ended up shooting until all were dead. The news program displayed their faces onscreen.

"I bought motor oil from that man," Joren remarked offhandedly.

~~

The night was cold and harsh. Joren shivered under the cover of his leather jacket. He tugged the black wool beanie over his ears to prevent even more exposure and rubbed his hands together. The gloves did little to keep his fingers warm. The blond operative waited impatiently in the bushes, crouched low to the ground. He peered through the leaves at the expensive Victorian house he was instructed to infiltrate. The whole neighborhood belonged to moneybags and eccentric tycoons. He cared very little for them. In fact, he cared very little for anyone, so there was no discrimination against classes and castes.

His pager sounded. He checked the message. 

"Use the shortest route from the kitchen to the master bedroom. Mr. Mayor likes midnight snacks, and the nighttime lasers aren't in that area of the house."

Earlier, Paxton had taught Joren how to hack into the DJPF's database from where they were and look up the blueprints for the mayor's home. The DJPF was the only 'security company' whom political officials chose to trust. Thus, the DJPF possessed any blueprints or security information that they would ever need.

_"How did you get past the DJPF firewall? Can any hacker get in there?" Joren had asked like a little boy._

_"Just me. And now you."_

Traipsing over the lawn unseen was no difficult task. Joren was tempted to take a leisurely stroll and to set out biscuits for the Doberman Pinschers that patrolled about at wide intervals. He regained his concentration on the task at hand and approached the back kitchen door. 

"Mr. Mayor should be glad I'm one of the good guys. This is too easy," he said under his breath. He removed the outer covering of the intercom above the number pad, which protruded from the wall beside the door. He clipped a small device onto a metal chip that was in plain view among the colorful wires within. The tiny screen display started to flash some numbers. Joren typed them into the number pad backwards.

The door unlocked. Joren gripped the handle and slid it open. He removed his device from the chip and replaced the cover. Then he entered, glad to be out of the midnight chill that seeped into the hollow of his bones.

Though all around him was dark, Joren could see perfectly in his mind. He moved forward without hesitation, rocking the sole of his feet from heel to toe slowly so as not to make a sound. He turned right, then left, then right again, until he came to the set of grand stairs that the mayor himself used on midnight treks to the refrigerator. 

Joren had nothing against the mayor. The mayor did his best, trying to compromise with as many people as possible so there would not be an outbreak of fighting. But, it was difficult to make any serious changes in Tusaine unless Enishi Yukishiro consented. Joren had no doubt that the mayor had never dealt with the crime lord. He never knew that Enishi left alone successful projects that the mayor had initiated. Otherwise, the white-haired man sabotaged everything else.

Upstairs, Joren drew his gun from its holster and cocked it. He held it up, close by his head, ready to aim and shoot if he needed to. He silently prayed that he would have no need. The beanie on his head seemed to make his head hot now. The pack on his back was a bit heavy, as were the other utilities on his belt. _Paranoia and nerves_, he thought to himself. _That's all it is._

~~

Enishi Yukishiro's eyes opened the very moment his COM screen began to beep. He had been daydreaming of something taken away from his life and felt irritated that someone had dared interrupt that unmentionable pleasure. One long elegant hand reached forward and touched a fingertip to the screen. His irritation ceased when he saw who had called upon him.

"My, my. I believe you're on your way to redeeming yourself, Jack."

He watched Joren fidget under his gaze. 

"I've decided to let you see me kill the mayor myself. That way, you can't accuse me of not doing it. But I won't pull the trigger until you tell me where the armory truck is. I swear I won't even put my finger on the trigger," Joren told him in a challenging voice. "So what do you say to that?"

The amusement was apparent in his aquamarine eyes. "You've lost the privilege of my trust because of the last incident, but I'll indulge you. The armory truck is in this building's underground garage, right now as we speak. No one is there. You may pick it up when you're done. You won't have to come back. If they catch you, I can't have you connected to me in any way." He laughed into his raised hand, trying to hide his devious smirk. "So, come on Jack. Pull that trigger. I'd like to enjoy the show."

Joren drew another gun from his waist, one with a silencer attached to the barrel. He glared at Enishi before he walked over to the mayor's bed. The man was sleeping on his side, the back of his head the only visible part of the body. The moonlight shone through the window, casting the scene in gray and blue colors that seemed fit for Death's visit. Joren placed the barrel to the back of the man's head and quite calmly shot the man.

The head moved with the shot, and spatters of blood appeared on the pillow. The dark red color pleased Enishi. It was real. Joren walked back to the COM screen on the dresser. His sarcasm hung thick in the air like smoke. "And that ends tonight's episode of The Sick and the Twisted. Goodnight, folks."

"Goodbye, Jack. Enjoy the money. Live a fruitful life," Enishi added amiably. His voice held no malice. Joren said nothing and ended the transmission.

~~

Joren shuddered inwardly as he gazed upon the fake head he'd planted on the bed. He stripped the pillows of its covers, and the bed of its sheets. The pillows used to represent a body under the sheets were tossed onto the floor.  He picked up the head and deposited it into a black trash bag with the sheets. He would burn them downstairs in the furnace. After setting down the bag, Joren walked to the closet and slid open the wooden door. Inside, a man in his forties with thinning brown hair and a round little belly sat on the floor, bound and gagged. 

"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Mayor. You'll thank me for it later." He leaned over the mayor and retrieved new bed sheets and pillow covers. "I suggest you place these on your bed and go back to sleep. And don't tell anyone that I was here. I'm a part of the DJPF Secret Service, if you want to call it that. They'll deny all knowledge of this, and will tell you that you've had a horrible nightmare."

With this, Joren grabbed the collar of the cotton pajamas and yanked the mayor up to a standing position. The bound man's eyes were wide and he was incredibly frightened, but he did not struggle. Joren removed the gag and the binds. He handed the mayor his bed sheets and bowed politely.

"Remember. This was all a bad dream."

The mayor blinked his eyes and trudged back to his bed, in trance. "I have got to stop eating that meringue pie before bed. The things that I dream of!"

Joren smirked and picked up his bag. He supposed a silly mayor was better than an incompetent one. And perhaps this one might actually get some work done when Enishi was arrested. He might even get elected another term.

~~

"Paxton, where the hell are you? Why aren't you answering?" Joren whispered fiercely. He stared at his pager. He'd paged Paxton a few minutes ago, telling him where the armory truck was. Paxton had replied that he was on his way to get the truck and drive it away before Enishi found out that the mayor was still alive.

That had been minutes ago. Paxton had not been that far away from Enishi's office building. There was no reason for Paxton not to report in again. He should have gotten into the truck and left the garage by then. Joren himself was on his motorcycle, on his way to the riverside building. 

"Something isn't right."

He reached the building in another ten minutes. He left his motorcycle outside the garage. Anything could have happened and Joren wanted to keep his bike intact for a quick getaway. He drew on Desert Eagle from its holster and entered the underground garage. The lights were dim and far apart. He ran from one shadow to the next, wondering where the armory truck could be.

His intuition told him it was a trap. Nevertheless, he had to go and see for himself. Paxton could be in danger. And only Joren could save him. 

_You like playing the hero, don't you? That's three times in two days that you've had the opportunity to save people's lives. You self-righteous bastard,_ he cursed at himself. _You're here to get the evidence to take Enishi Yukishiro down. You won't kill him. You want to see him suffer in jail. You want the whole world to know what he's done in Tusaine. You want him to suffer in the public view of millions. You sick-minded bastard._

There was a bright light in the corner of the garage. There was an oil spot where a vehicle had most likely leaked recently. Joren approached the area, his gun up and poised to shoot should anyone try to get the jump on him. Joren jogged to the bright spot and looked around. There was a piece of paper on the ground. He glanced around him once more before bending to pick it up.

_"He got as far as 4th Avenue. The money is yours, not his. He deserves punishment. You could come upstairs and watch, if you want."_

Joren's blood ran cold.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was lifting his wrist and looking at his pager. His instincts screamed at him to go up and rescue his mentor. But the mission always came first. He left an anonymous message with the DJPF station to pick up the armory truck on 4th Avenue. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he entered the elevator and rode up the few stories to Enishi's office. He gripped the handle of his gun so tight that his knuckles were white. It was a trap. He knew that. So, why in the world was he going up? Paxton could already be dead. He was probably dead.

The elevator doors opened and Joren walked out. 

"Why hello, Jack. Glad you could join us."

Joren aimed his gun straight at the white-haired man before him. Enishi held his hands behind his back and smiled, showing no fear at all despite the danger that threatened him. Beside him, two men stood over Joren's mentor. Paxton was on his knees, bloodied and bruised from an attack Joren had not been present to witness.

"Mark, are you okay?"

"_Mark_ has betrayed you, Jack," Enishi told him. He made a wide sweeping gesture. "All of it was a lie. He's never coached anyone in his life. After some persuasion, he's even admitted to lying to you when he first met you in Riversdale. Isn't that right, Mr. Delacroix? Or should I say, _Mr. Nond_?"

Before Joren could open his mouth to speak, Paxton was scrambling to his feet. Despite the guns trained on him, he limped toward Joren. His blond protégé steadied him with one arm and stared him in the eyes, asking with silent looks whether it was true. Their covers were blown.

Paxton sputtered and coughed as he struggled to speak. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jack. It's true! I was going to take the money and run… Please… forgive…"

"What?" Joren asked, backing away from the older man.

Enishi laughed. "You know there's only one thing to do to those who betray you. Shoot him, Jack. Shoot him right now, in the heart. He isn't wearing any lead vest, I can assure you. In the heart, Jack. Right now. It will be painless."

Joren's own heart could have stopped beating right then and there. He stared at Paxton incredulously, lost and confused in their impossible situation. Paxton returned the gaze with a quiet and grim sort of finality. He nodded to Joren, and turned his face away from Enishi's view. The older man mouthed two words.

Do it.

No, Joren wanted to shout. Never. And yet, his hands hand minds of their own. His hands held the gun up level to Paxton's chest. 

_"When I was your age, I had to shoot my best friend."_

"What are you waiting for, Jack?"

_"Seems Death didn't like being cheated of his winnings and sought to take him any way he could."_

Joren shut his eyes and his heart from the rest of the world. He breathed in deeply and exhaled all warmth he had in his heart for partners and mentors. There was nothing left to do. "You're right, Enishi. You must always kill those who would betray you."

"Purge the world of him, then," the smooth voice urged in the seductive tones of power. 

He opened his eyes to the new world and pulled the trigger.

~~

He fell immediately. My aim was perfect. Of course it was perfect. 

In one last attempt, my heart rebelled against the course that my mind and soul had taken. I could feel tears on my cheek, but I could not feel myself within my body. I watched like a spectator from some deep hidden region within as my hands raised again and shot the men that had beaten my mentor, my teacher. 

_I screamed obscenities and curses to end all curses and the lying, bleeding men before they died. Their dark red essence poured out onto the carpet and in my craze, I wondered how the stains would ever be removed. No one would mourn these pathetic cronies, these lesser beings than men. But a janitor would mourn the once pristine carpet. Yes. That was worth mourning._

_My vision blurred from my salty tears. If Paxton hadn't been caught, I wouldn't have had to come up here and shoot him. It wasn't my fault. There was nothing I could do. One life could be sacrificed. It was for the greater good, so that we could bring down the world that this so-called god had built from nothing. _

_One life could be sacrificed, almost as I had been ready to sacrifice Coram's. _

_A tree could grow here. The building could burn, like everything else. They could plant trees here. They could walk dogs in a park where this building once stood. It was possible. I could make it possible. _

_My mind was coming apart at the seams. From the insanity I knew I had descended into, I trained my gun on the one man before me that was the cause of every pain I had felt in this city. No. Not a man. He was indeed a god, a god of corruption._

_"Do it. Shoot me, Jack."_

_I wanted to. Oh, how I _wanted _to._

But I wasn't worthy. And I was afraid, even though he stood in front of me, vulnerable as a mortal. My hands shook and the tears still streaked my cheeks. My heart could leap out my chest—it had been pounding so hard. But my brain, as crazy as it was, could not command my body to do what the heart desired for it to do.

_And I ran._

_~~_

The first thing Joren saw in the morning was a rattrap with a moldy piece of cheese. He picked himself up off the floor. He had entered a building where squatters spent their time. He could hear people yelling outside in drunken, slurred voices. Yes, he knew where he was now. 

His motorcycle should still be in the alley where he left it. Untouched. No one would dare. Even the mad ones, even the ones who talked to pigeons knew not to touch. Motorcycles were the symbol of _his_ elite. And they would not be touched, anywhere in the city. 

All the events from the night before washed over him anew. The desperation, the confusion, and the blood. A hot searing sickness raged in his belly. Joren promptly leaned over a cardboard box and vomited. He braced himself against the wall and closed his eyes. He had expelled bile from his body, not guilt. How could he ever go back and tell Buri what had happened?

How could he explain why he was here, alive and breathing, while his partner was not?

The mission. The mission was the thing, he had once said. And it was.

He picked up his wool beanie off the floor and tugged it over his head again. If no one recognized him, perhaps he could leave this part of the city without being recognized by any of Enishi's men. They must be out looking for him. They had to be. He'd killed three men the night before, and had almost killed their god of a leader.

No, he couldn't have killed Enishi.  It was inconceivable to his followers that the white-haired god was vulnerable. Enishi had let him get away as an act of mercy. That was all. That was all they would believe.

"Sleep well?"

Joren spun around, his hand immediately drawing his gun and aiming it at the speaker. The words were so trippingly pronounced on a tongue that spoke in such superior ways. What was that voice doing here? What was the owner of that voice doing here? 

"How… how…" 

"Honestly. Shut your gaping mouth. You resemble a fish," Enishi Yukishiro chastised. His appearance was perfection. His gray suit was neatly pressed, and his halo of hair so elegantly tossed about his head. Joren looked away, overcome by the sight of his doom-bringer.

His courage slowly built, and the residue of the last night's fear faded. "You snake-eyed—"

"Snakes are wonderful creatures, Joren. Don't insult them so. They take many forms. Just as you had."

_My name. He said my real name._

Joren cocked the gun. "How did you know? How could you… Did Paxton tell you?" His voice cracked. "Were you messing with my head? You bastard! You knew…?"

Enishi was unfazed by the threat yet again and Joren knew that he would not be able to shoot him. So, the blond operative lowered his gun. It hung limply from his curled fingers. 

"I've known for a long time now," the white-haired man confessed with a fond smile. "Very long."

"I don't believe you. You lie."

"You knew it, too. You knew that I knew."

"You lie!"

Joren drew his gun again. His hand shook as he aimed at Enishi's head. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. But he already knew that he would miss. And when he opened his eyes, Enishi was regarding the bullet hole in the wall with great passivity. He sighed in resignation and spoke to the confused blond man again.

"Think. Think back, really hard," Enishi urged him. And Joren did.

Every meeting he had ever had with this self-proclaimed deity was recalled. Joren couldn't find anything. He could see his mistake. Where did he slip up? Had he slipped up? 

_"There's an interesting quality about you, Mr. Stone. Peculiar, but interesting."_

A cold feeling like icy fingers squeezed his insides. He lifted his gaze to the man in front of him. The other man stood there so calmly. He could have been waiting for his wife to exit the ladies room; the quality of Enishi's tranquility was ridiculously great. Joren involuntarily took a step back. It was safe to say that he had never been more thoroughly terrified in his entire life.

"You _knew_," he choked. "You knew who I was the whole time." His heart pounded heavily in his chest. "You spoke my real name, and not even Paxton noticed. I… I didn't notice." He shook his head. "But you couldn't know! We covered up our tracks…"

Enishi made a cooing sound like he was hushing a dove. "Aww… I know. You're scared. It's alright."

Joren backed away some more, until he collided with the wall. "No!"

"Gods see and know all, Joren. You knew this. Your heart did. Your brain was too busy seeking distractions from the pain for your heart to get it through to your head. That's all."

He trembled like a little boy again. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"No. I couldn't kill someone of my own kind."

He ceased his trembling and sneered at the older man. "I'm no god," he corrected bitterly. "Not any Jackal, and not any Anubis."

The superior being before him considered Joren's claim with thoughtful pacing. The seconds ticked by and Joren's anxiety increased with every breath he took. Enishi finally stood still and inclined his head to the younger man. "If you wish to keep it as that, then so be it. Now go back home, where you really belong, Joren. You are dismissed from my world. Jack Winston is dead to me. And so are you."

With a nod of his head and a wave of his hand, Enishi Yukishiro departed from Joren's life. He stepped over the trash that bums scattered about, because everything was beneath him. His footsteps were silent, as if he was made of feathers and forced no weight on the rotten floorboards that creaked under Joren's own weight. 

After all the pain that had been inflicted upon him… after the even more significant loss of innocence and feeling, Joren still couldn't believe it. He could not conceive it. Enishi had set him free. The tormentor was gone, back to his clouds above his city. And he would not think of Joren anymore. Because Joren was dead to him.

Joren was dead to himself.

~~

Present time:

Joren had left his apartment in the midst of his remembering. He did not know why. He had started walking and walking and walking. His feet knew where to go because his heart, so neglected and spurned since then, instructed them where to go. It was very late into the afternoon, almost dusk. But Joren did not care. He kept walking and walking and walking.

His wandering took him back to Coram's apartment. Half of the building was discolored, from the use of a different brick built where the apartment had burned. No trees were planted anywhere on the block. But a man was walking a dog. He was a poor man, Joren could tell. There were patches on his jacket and dirt on his hands. The dog was skinny and its ribs showed.

Joren found a bench and sat, facing the building. He sat and thought of his friend and wondered if the man was well, if the girl was well, or if the man still limped.

"Maybe he does."

He closed his eyes and hung his head. He wished he'd given Coram his real name. He wished he'd told Coram everything about himself. Not to burden Coram with his problems, but in the hope that Coram might know Joren as well as Joren had known him. He'd known about Rispah, and about Kimmy. He'd known about Coram's passion to race and his kind loyal heart.

And Coram knew nothing about him.

It was odd to think of people that he would never meet again. They breezed in and out of his life, yet he could still feel Julia's hands on his back, kneading his tired muscles and whispering sweet things to him as if she loved him. He could feel the warmth of Coram's first and last grateful and friendly embrace. The shyness of Kimmy's blush.

He opened his eyes and sat up. A woman was standing in front of him. He frowned.

"I thought it was you," the woman murmured. Before Joren knew what it was going on, she had dropped her groceries and fell to the ground on her knees in front of him, clasping his hands. He was too sluggish to move. "Jack! You've come back!"

The coincidence was beyond his understanding. He stared at the stranger in front of him, so ardently holding his callous hands in her dove-soft ones. He pulled away, confused and suspicious. She resembled a struck puppy dog when he did this.

"Who are you?"

"What are you talking about? It's me! Julia!"

His gaze softened. It was all coming back to him now. With hesitant hands, he reached forward and felt the soft strawberry blond waves that had once brushed against his chest while he slept. She leaned into his touch. Yes, her cheek was still that soft and smooth. He breathed out slowly, his lips forming forbidden words that he did not say aloud. 

An ache formed in his chest that he could not explain. He dropped his hands and balled them up into fists again. 

"Jack?"

"Julia," he whispered. He regained his senses and asked her to sit down with him. She gathered up her groceries, a blush on her face, and seated herself beside him. Then they began the painstaking process of re-acquaintance. Joren could not help himself. So fresh from his remembering, it was all he could do to keep himself from going to pieces. If Julia had survived, then Coram and Kimmy must have survived as well. It was his only hope.

"So," he said awkwardly. They could have been two people talking at a high school reunion. "How have you been?"

"Fine, just fine. I'm, uh, a waitress a few blocks from here. It's not as dirty and grimy as you think." She bit her lip. "And you?"

"Fine."

"Oh. Okay." She appeared as if she wanted to ask him something, something she might have asked him before. An intimate question. Would he answer her this time, or shut her out? Julia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and decided to brave the storm. "Why did you leave? I went back to your place a few days later and you were gone. I was so worried about you."

He swallowed, though his throat was dry. "I'd warned you not to come back."

"Jack! Please don't start this again. I don't have to tell you how I felt. You knew. You just pretended not to know."

'You knew.' Joren hated those words. Those words had been his mantra in the face of the crushing tiger that was Enishi Yukishiro.

"Why did you come back?" he asked.

"I told you—"

"Bullshit, Julia. There's more to it, isn't there? I can see it in your eyes." He steeled his heart from her prying fingers. She wouldn't get him again. She was supposed to be departed from his life forever, just like his other 'friends.' How could she come back and expect everything to be as they'd left it? He would not allow it. He could not afford to. 

Because if he did, there was a great chance he might not survive the pain again.

Julia looked down at her lap. A drop of moisture fell onto her skirt. Joren looked away. He did not need that guilt right then. He had enough guilt to last him a lifetime. Hers was the icing to the cake.

"Why?" he repeated, returning his accusing gaze to her angelic downturned face.

Her eyes met his with reluctance. Her lip quivered as she spoke. 

"I was pregnant."

The three words were like a hot knife stabbing into his chest. Joren clenched his fists. Sensing his shock and discomfort, Julia began to ramble and get the words out before he could get up and walk away, as she feared he would do.

"I knew the smart thing was to get an abortion, but I didn't even have the money for that! I didn't want to get rid of him. He was the only thing I had left of you… so… so I kept him," she cried, her tears pouring down her cheeks. "I lived with my sister and she helped me get back on my feet and get a job. I was so scared all the time. I prayed that you would come back and we could settle down." She reached for his hands, and he was too numb to snatch them away. "I thought you could escape from whatever was driving you away, and we could just forget about it all. We could raise him together. Maybe if you'd been there, I would have been strong enough and he wouldn't have been born with that defect."

"Defect?" He spoke for the first time during her long-winded and lamentable story.

"Something was wrong with his blood. The doctors had no idea what it was. They said they could do some research and get him better but they needed money for the treatment and research…"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What happened?!"

She was sobbing now. If he'd any compassion left for her, he might have tried to calm her down, but all of it was channeled into a sudden rage he never knew existed before. He was angry and zealous for a son he'd had for almost five years and didn't even know existed until a few moments ago.  

"I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to ask him for money, but he was the only one I could ask. He was so kind when I told him that the baby was yours.  He took care of me and looked after me. I'm not lying! I swear, Jack, you'd think differently about him if you knew—"

The knife that she had unwittingly stabbed in his heart twisted and wrenched another cry from him.

"No. Oh God, please tell me you didn't go to Yukishiro."

"He helped me! And he talked to these other new doctors for me. And…"

"Then what? What happened to my son?" he demanded, squeezing her shoulders even tighter. She wiped her tears from her face and gulped nervously. Her crying caused her to sputter and breathe unevenly as she continued telling him.

"These new doctors came and said they would take him to a research facility where they could help him. I didn't want to be separated from him, but they said that there was no room for me. They… they s-said that I should work really hard at building a home that I could bring him back t-to…" At this point, she broke into new sobs and the groceries fell once again from the bench when her elbow knocked them from her lap. 

Joren released her from his grip. He held his head in his hands. "And then what?"

She sniffled and tried to take deep breaths to calm herself. It was a few more moments before she continued. The world around them seemed to stand still. The sun, in respect for their tragedy, had stopped itself at dusk, so that the orange sky stayed and they would have light until the end of her true tale.

"I tried calling the number they gave me, but it was out of service. And I tried writing… and… and the postmaster said it didn't exist. I told Mr. Yukishiro, and he was so mad, Jack. He was downright pissed, Jack… He'd been tricked, too! We both thought that they were going to help my baby, but they lied to us! They took him away and they never came back!"

Joren forced himself to withhold his tears. It had been mere minutes since he'd first heard the words that proclaimed him a father. All the passion and love for that child that should have existed those five years was bursting from his heart and he didn't know how to handle the sudden rush of emotion. He stood up shakily and muttered in a likewise unstable voice.

"I have to go."

"No! Oh, please, Jack. Please, don't go again!" she cried and grasped his hand. 

"I'll… I'll talk to you again. Leave me your number," he said, to calm her hysteria. She obeyed and fervently sought for a pen in her purse. She found a scrap of paper and wrote the number down. He took the paper from her and placed it in his pocket. 

He started to leave.

"Wait! Oh, Jack, don't you even want to know his name?"

Joren stopped and turned around. He stared at her, wondering how many nights his former lover had wept without him and without their son. He forced out his words. "What was it?"

She sniffled again, and wiped her eyes. "It's Coram Vincent." She laughed pathetically and shrugged her fragile shoulders. "I, uh, found out that your friend Coram had left town, too. So I figured he was with you, and that if our baby was named Coram, he might be better connected with you than I could ever be."

"My son's name…"

"Coram Vincent Winston. Yes. He's your son."

~~

The Northwatch Knights were losing. With every Out they received, Dom groaned in misery. He would be short fifty Nobles at the end of the game. He made a mental note never to bet on anything ever again. Or perhaps next time, he ought to get advice from that friend of Cleon's. Faleron, yes, that was his name. Faleron was a great gambler. He'd done everything. He could help Dom with this.

His doorbell rang. Domitan Masbolle decided not to watch the rest of the game and turned off his holo-screen. There was no sense in torturing himself. So, he rose from his couch and approached the door, yawning and rubbing the back of his stiff neck. He looked through the peephole and stepped back when he identified the visitor.

"Joren?" he gasped. He opened the door. The other distraught man stood at the doorway, afraid to enter. "What's up?"

"Can we talk?" his visitor asked in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice. 

Dom recognized the strange solemnity in Joren's expression and posture. He stepped aside, gesturing for his unlikely friend to come in. Joren went in, but stopped a few short steps away. He didn't feel apt to move all that much, and just stood like a forlorn man who'd lost everything in mere seconds.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Dom replied. It had been years since Joren had shown him any semblance of friendship. "So what did you want to talk about?"

Joren licked his chapped lips. He was sickly pale and his brilliant sky blue eyes were dull and dim. 

"Do you remember when I came back about five years ago? Back from that mission?"

It would be impossible for Dom not to remember. Joren had been the most withdrawn and responsive than he'd ever seen the younger blond man. Joren had reported to Buri right away and told her that the money was recovered, but the mission had altogether failed. Paxton had been killed and there was no definite evidence that Yukishiro was the culprit of a million of Tusaine's crimes. There _had_ been evidence. Paxton had tapes of Enishi talking, but they were destroyed when Paxton was captured. 

Joren avoided all human contact for days on end. He eventually requested work outside of Tusaine, out in the suburbs or the towns. From then on, he had rarely come back into Tusaine, and barely spent enough time with the Rider's Own to familiarize himself with its new members that joined as the years went by. Dom had never asked him what had happened on that first mission. He had been afraid of what Joren might do or say.

But it appeared as if he might hear the story after all. The two men sat down on the couch and another confession began.

~~

Keladry walked down the hall, wondering if Lerant and Yuki were in. She wanted to borrow a book that both members were said to have. Moments before, the first class female officer had arrived at her partner's door, as he had earlier requested. She was angry to discover that he was not home at all. 

"Oh well. He was the one who wanted me to come back. Doesn't matter to me," she said to herself. 

She was two doors down from Lerant's apartment when she overheard a familiar voice. 

"I never wanted any of it. All I had wanted to do was abort the damn mission and leave there before I lost my soul."

Keladry frowned. She retraced her steps and, a little nosily and shamefully, pressed her ear up against the door from which the voice was coming from. She recognized the speaker as her cold partner, but there was nothing in his voice that communicated 'cold' at all. Why was he in Dom's apartment? What was he talking about?

_Lose his soul?_ She concentrated on hearing his hushed voice.

"But I couldn't leave… and… and I had to kill him, Dom! There wasn't any other option! I had to kill Paxton. The man treated me like a son, sometimes. Sometimes, he pissed me off, but he always treated me like I would one day go on to greater things." A pause. "I had no choice. The mission was key," he insisted, more to himself than to his listener. "I was given orders and so was he."

She gulped nervously. Kel didn't like where this was leading, but it frightened her already.

"It's okay. I'm sure you wouldn't have done it if that other bastard hadn't been pressuring you," Dom assured. Keladry silently thanked Dom for being comforting and sympathetic when she could not. Maybe if she'd returned earlier, he would be speaking to her, and not Dom. 

Why couldn't he have waited for her? He'd found her good enough to tease and trick but not good enough to talk to? She felt a little pang of jealousy, knowing that even Dom was closer to her partner than she was. But there was no time to be jealous when Joren was teetering on the edge. Someone had to save him from himself, and if she couldn't do it, then it didn't matter as long as he was saved.

"There's more."

"You've told me plenty, Joren. What else could possibly have happened?"

"I… I ran into _her_ today. I promised to talk to her again, not because I really want to, but I should."

"Why should you? You're not obligated to. You ended that years ago."

Here, Keladry perceived the sound of a muffled cry. She held her breath.

"Yes, I ended _that_. But something else began after that."

"You're confusing me. What began?"

"I have a son."

_A son?_ Keladry's eyes widened. She covered her own mouth with both hands to keep from yelping aloud. A son? Joren had a son? The idea was so shocking that she almost didn't catch the next stream of rushed words that spilled forth from Joren's mouth.

"I… I had no idea… She didn't tell me she was pregnant before I left. Damn it! It doesn't fucking matter any more, because he's gone and those men took him away and Julia… not even that bastard with the white hair knows where my son is… if he's still alive. Don't you see, Dom? That's why I can't handle it any more." Another sob was muffled. "There could be a kid out there, cold and alone, just like I was… feeling betrayed because he doesn't know who his father is and… and he could be starving… and he could be thinking that I don't give a rat's ass about him…"

"Shh… it's okay. But, Joren, do you care? You've just found out today… and I don't know. I've never been a father, and my own wasn't that great an example… but… do you care even though you just… _found out_?"

Keladry could hear someone moving around. Dom was probably pacing nervously around the room while Joren was sunken on the couch in his own tragedy.

"I guess I do. I mean, I always wanted to be like my father. And if that means being a good father in return, I guess I always wanted that, too. After all that I've done, I know I'm not worthy of it. But if there was something I could _do_ to… to… oh, anything at all—I guess, I would want to find him and give him a better life than I had."

There was a long silence. Then Joren spoke again.

"There's nothing I can do. He's gone and I'm never going to find him. I might as well keep what little sanity I have and forget—"

"No," Dom interrupted. "Don't do that. Dead or alive, neglected or loved—he's your son. You created life." He chuckled. "Damn it all, Joren, you ever wonder how many people wish they could create life like that? Don't forget about him. Just remember him."

There was more talking after that, but it was more hushed than before. Keladry stood up and backed away from the door. She didn't know what to think. After all this time, thinking of Joren as a man whose reasons to shut out world seemed so petty and unreasonable, she suddenly saw that he had in fact, all the right he could possess to shut out everything. He deserved to be left alone in his misery. After all that she heard, she wondered if anyone should ever try to bring him out of his misery, or if it was possible. 

Because she had become engulfed by her bewildered thoughts, she had not the mind to walk away before the door to Dom's apartment opened, and Joren stepped out. The door slid shut behind him. And he saw her.

Keladry stared at him, wide eyed like a doe caught in headlights. 

"Hi."

Joren did not appear as if he were even breathing. After a long agonizing moment, he spoke. "How much did you hear?"

"Nothing!" she replied instantly.

"Don't lie to me, Mindelan! How much did you fucking hear?!" he bellowed. She almost jumped back in shock. After hearing him cry, she couldn't have imagined that he could burn so hot so quickly. Keladry glanced around her, wondering if anyone else heard, or chose to hear.

An interruption would not be so bad right then.

Anything but this wild creature in front of her with blood on his hands and grief in his crumbling stone heart.  Keladry gulped. It crossed her mind that she could run like a jackrabbit to the end of the hall, but knowing Joren, he would hunt her down like a dog and tear her to pieces if she tried. 

She knew she was the better fighter when it came to unarmed combat. But Joren Stone was unstable, and utterly capable of killing her with his bare hands if he wanted to. Kel stared him straight in his eyes because she was unable to look anywhere else. In the corner of her vision, she spotted the familiar stitching on the inside of his collar. Oh, yes. He could be a jackal. Jackals were feisty and dangerous things when they were cornered.

But Joren wasn't cornered. He was anything _but_.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise. I don't care. I won't even try to remember it."

"You don't try to not remember it. You just remember," he spat. "Your mind decides for you, whether your heart likes it or not."

Another cautious step backward. "Oh. Well, then, I won't ever say a word."

"Do you think you have a right to pity me? I don't want any of your damn pity."

She faltered. "Pity? Pity you? I could never pity you, Stone. I hate you. You know that. Just as much as you hate me. You hate me, remember?"

He turned away, his fury subsiding. Keladry breathed a sigh of relief. She relaxed her leg muscles, which had tensed when the notion to run had entered her head. 

"His name is Coram Vincent Winston. If your damn mind has to remember him, at least know his name," Joren commanded quietly. He walked away without another word.

Keladry stared after him. She was still speechless minutes after he was gone. The many shocks he put in her system with his teasing kisses were nothing compared to this emotional roller coaster that he had thrown her on. Part of her wished to run after him and demand that he tell her everything. She wanted to know, so she could be the one comforting him instead of Dom. The other part of her never wanted to see him again. Seeing him made her miserable, not because he tormented her endlessly, but because his misery became her misery.

Dom's door opened. The Rider looked down the hall to where Joren had left. The blond operative was probably in his room now. But whether he shed tears or seethed in rage was beyond either of the witnesses left behind.

"I know you don't hate him. I don't either. It's hard to when you sense his heart."

She blinked. "So you think he has one?"

"You heard him. His whole life to him is like a big sick joke. Any heart he does have is… caged. Trapped."

"Trapped," she intoned. 

"Yeah. Trapped."

~~

Author: 

My head hurts. 

I hate my English teacher for instilling in me this whole new sense of deeper meaning in words and phrases. Because it causes my head to hurt as I type them. 

But I suppose that it was the best style I could have used to finally tell the whole story that is _Joren Stone_. I plan to lighten the season's tone by the next episode. Too much darkness was never good for the digestion, don't you agree? 

This was the first episode where I chose not to recycle Tamora Pierce character names, except for a few like Coram and Noack. In fact, Julia is a borrowed anime character, just as Enishi was. She is from Cowboy Bebop, and if you want a picture of her, or her story (as it is in the anime, not MY story) then please feel free to e-mail me. My e-mail was listed at the beginning, if you wanted it. 

I hope you enjoyed this episode on at least some significant level if you weren't the little least moved by it. I don't expect everyone who reads this to get the many layers of meanings and emotions that I tried to communicate. Describing every single emotion I want to inspire doesn't necessarily inspire them. Sometimes you've got to lay it down simple. And then it just happens.

Tell me what you think in your review, no matter what your reaction has turned out to be. 

**_IMPORTANT!_** Theme song from Coram's POV looking at Joren is definitely Deftones' "Change (house of flies)"! I insist you go back and read their club scenes while listening to that song! Download it, buy it on CD, do whatever! It's THE song for THAT MOMENT! :D

-Sulia Serafine © 2002


	10. An Interlude

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 10:**

**An Interlude**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading!

_I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW._

~~

"She's coming here? You're not kidding?" a certain redhead asked while placing a firm grip on his friend's arm. 

Faleron loosed himself from the tight hold and patted his limb, trying to help the circulation along. "Yes, yes. She's coming. Ms. Sarrasri told me that Mr. Olau was sending her and some other representatives to help the investigation."

"What investigation?"

The shorter man sighed. "The bank robberies."

"Oh. Those. Oh yeah! I remember now!"

"I don't see how you could forget. It just happened two weeks ago!"

Cleon Kennan shrugged. "I've had other things on my mind."

Faleron rolled his eyes. "Otherwise known as the holoscreen."

They bickered for a few more minutes until Faleron's lunch break was over. Then Faleron went back to work and Cleon decided he would, too. No one ever missed him at the station, but perhaps _she_ was there. He couldn't pass up the chance of seeing his personal goddess.

"Kalasin," he murmured dreamily. Faleron and his other friends couldn't imagine how and why Cleon was be head-over-heels in love with a woman who didn't think much of him in return. He couldn't help it. A person didn't choose who they fell in love with. They just did.

He was very tempted to track her down and ask for a date. There was always a chance she could say yes. He had a strange feeling that fate would favor him today. It never hurt to hope. Who knew? Kalasin had a heart. He knew that much, since she obviously kept in touch with Roald, her younger brother. Could she have a heart for Cleon, too?

His pager started to beep. He checked the message. Keladry wanted a few things from the store and wondered if Cleon was nice enough to drop by and get it for her. After all, he had the car and she didn't. It was never in Cleon to be impolite to Kel—an older sister figure for him though he was older—even when the request put his ambitions in second. He sent his replying message, telling her that he'd be glad to.

The love of his life would have to wait just fifteen more minutes.

~~

The first thought to emerge in Kel's mind when she heard the phone ring was that Cleon had not understood the list that she had paged him. He could have paged her, but since he talked incessantly by nature, paging would be an inconvenience. He'd call her.

"Fresh lettuce and croutons, Cleon. It's not that hard to remember. Did you forget the rest, too?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't Cleon."

Keladry nearly dropped the phone. "Oh! Liam, I'm so sorry. I thought you were Cleon—he's at the grocery store and… well…"

"I think I get the idea. Anyway, I'm not contacting you to discuss produce and toasted bits of bread."

"Of course not," she replied in an even voice, wanting to kick herself. 

He continued. "It's been almost a fortnight since I last saw you, and I was sincerely setting my heart on another encounter."

_I wonder who uses the term 'fortnight' anymore_, Kel mused. She smiled to herself and responded. "I'd like that."

_Don't I sound so sophisticated next to him? Oh, I bet, _she thought sarcastically. _Ah well. I don't mind that. He's a nice guy and he's always been wonderful to talk to, especially since all these things have been happening: the bank robberies… Stone having a son—_

She snapped back into reality and cleared her throat. "How would you like to come to the carnival with me? I heard there's one set up just on the edge of town."

 "I've never been to a carnival."

"Neither have I." _Never allowed myself anything that fun._ "So, yes?"

He chuckled—a deep, rich, and pleasing sound to her ears. It was a beautiful laugh. "Oh yes. Most definitely."

"All right then. Um, so should I meet you there…?" 

"No, why don't I just drop by your place? That is, unless the 'guard dog' is still frothing at the mouth," he trailed off suggestively.

Keladry mentally smacked herself in the forehead. "Stone will be out of the way. Don't worry about him."

"I know this is most likely none of my business, but what is his problem? Ex-boyfriend, perhaps?"

"Oh, no! No, no, no." She gnawed on her lower lip. It would take volumes of books to explain Joren's problems. She settled for a half-lie. "He's usually the self-appointed leader on missions and he's a bit of a control freak."

"Even when it's nothing to do with the job?"

"Yeah. I know, freaky. Let's stop talking about him."

He paused. "Right. Sorry. Is six-thirty suitable for you?"

"Perfect."

"Then until I see you again…Kel." 

In turn, Kel said a goodbye that was quite mousy in comparison with his. She put down the phone and looked at the clock. It was still noontime. Approximately six hours until she saw his charming self again. Kel had to admit; she liked him. He was a refreshing change from the life she led. Liam represented everything that wasn't her life. Calm, rational, _pleasantly_ uneventful, but still full of vivacity. She wanted that _so_ much. 

The alternative was too difficult to deal with and often caused her to shout and scream.

"Liam Irons. Now there's a good normal guy when I need one," she muttered. 

The whole 'dating' thing was still very new to Keladry, but she thought to herself that she was doing a pretty good job so far. Never in her life did other people consider her date-material. The point was that she didn't want to be that workaholic girl so much anymore. People took advantage of that girl's hidden weaknesses. Certain blond people who just wanted her as miserable as them…

The phone rang. She picked it up.

"Did you forget something, Liam?"

The next was a rush of words that she could barely discern. "Uh… It's Cleon, Kel. I was wondering what type of salad dressing you wanted. You, um, weren't that specific, and I didn't want to guess because then I might have to make a second trip if I was wrong and that would take a lot of time and of course, a waste of fuel… You think that wouldn't be an issue in a hover car, but you know how it goes, Kel—"

She shook her head. "Ranch. Ranch is good."

A pause. "Oh. Okay!"

"And Cleon?"

"Yeah?"

Keladry thought better of her comment. "Nothing. See you in a bit."

"See ya, Kiwi-Kel!"

"Whoa! Wait, what did you just call m—" Kel looked at the phone incredulously and realized that he had hung up. She smiled and set it down on its hook.

~~

For a little over a week, Joren Stone had been at war with himself. He would sit down and stare at _it_, wondering if he should. Well, of course, the polite thing would be to do so—something noncommittal. After it was over, he would not have to give it another thought ever again. 

He stood and paced about, ignoring the fact that he ought to busy himself with other activities. He couldn't draw his mind from it. The troubled blond man paced and paced. He sat and tapped his foot. He stood and paced again.

It was a sheer miracle that Joren finally sat and reached for it.

His twitchy fingers hovered over then pressed down. The pattern of movement had been memorized from the countless times that he stared at it. His other hand, picked up the phone receiver and put it up to his ear. He waited anxiously, wondering if it wasn't too late to back out and go back to pacing. But his arm was frozen, and he waited.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he said. "It's me." There was a crash on the other end of the phone line. It sounded like dishes. He stood up, picking up the other part of the phone in his free hand. "Julia?"

Her phone was hastily picked up again. At least she hadn't dropped a COMscreen. "I'm here! Oh, Jack, I was hoping you would call."

Joren scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I meant to. I was a little busy."

_Busy driving myself crazy._

"So…" he started again.

"I want you to come over," she said softly. 

"Come over?"

"For dinner," she explained. "I still like to cook. And I want to hear how things have been going for you, Jack."

He rested his face against the palm of his upraised hand. Joren had never told her who he really was. How many nights had Julia thought of 'Jack Winston' while he was gone? How much did she believe?

_She believes all of it. She has nothing else to believe in._

"Julia."

"What? Oh, how stupid of me. If tonight's not good, we can have dinner some other night." She chuckled. It sounded hollow.

"Julia, I can't see you anymore," Joren said firmly. He took a deep breath and tried desperately to ward off all his memories of her. Oh, how her touch had been so gentle and caressing. How attentive she had been to his pain.

"W…why?" 

He gritted his teeth, frustrated and angry. "That period of my life is _over_. I have a different life now. I can't just forget it and go back with you. That life was hell. You remember how it was for me." He tried to cajole her to recall. "You saw how torn up I was. I had to leave. I did."

She whispered, "But you came back."

He was silent for a few minutes after that. 

"Jack?"

Joren winced. "Listen. I'll come over for dinner tonight and we'll talk more then, okay?"

"Okay. Six-thirty all right?" Julia sounded so naïve. He couldn't stand it. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know. He was the one keeping everyone in the dark. He owed it to her to at least have one last dinner with her. Just like old times.

"Sure. Six-thirty is fine," he replied in a softer voice.

"Well, see you later. Oh—and Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

He started to say something, but then hung up. 

~~

Cleon swung the plastic shopping basket around and whistled. He looked across the row of checkout counters and their lines, wondering which was the shortest. 

_Wow, there is a whole bunch of people shopping today,_ he thought. He spotted the Express Lane (ten items or less) at the very end and strode toward it with another tune upon his lips. He stood at the back of the line and read the headlines and covers of the magazine rack. 

"_Celebrity News: Presidential Advisor Alanna Trebond Pregnant. Hubby George Swoop Exclaims 'Again?'_" He paused. "Weird."

"I'm sorry! The cash register is broken!" the cashier called. Everyone in line groaned and scuttled away to find other lines to stand in. Cleon began to walk away, then stepped backwards and grabbed the magazine. He went to the far side of the check out counters and waited patiently at the back of the line.

The carts of the people in front of him were halfway full. He had either caught the place at its rush hour or discovered a very popular supermarket. Figuring he had a couple of minutes to wait, he daydreamed.

_Oh, Kalasin, _he thought.

_"Oh, Cleon,"_ he imagined her saying right back. She winked at him—yes! And she blushed and he presented her with flowers and candy. Then Kalasin kissed him on the cheek and declared what a thoughtful man he was. 

Pausing his daydream for a moment, he recalled their adventure with the Immortals in the faux forest. That was the first time he had laid eyes on her, if he remembered correctly. Oh, if things had only occurred differently there! He could have saved her life and earned her undying gratitude. 

_"Oh, Cleon! Thank you for saving me!"_ she would have said.

Or at least he hoped she would have said that.

"Hey, buddy. The line's moving."

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kally, my love."

Everyone in line turned and stared at him, especially the man who had just addressed him. Cleon stepped forward two spaces, sighing. He eventually opened the magazine and started reading. His eyes widened at a certain printed fact.

"Wow. So that's how many kids they _already_ have. Boarding school fees must be a pain."

~~

Keladry sat on her bed and stared at her closet. The first time this particular nervousness had appeared was when he had first asked her to lunch. She'd sat in the locker room for a while, evaluating the whole situation like a geek. 

_Don't evaluate,_ she told herself. _Just go with the flow._ She stopped that train of thought when she realized that Neal's voice was the one saying it. Maybe she ought to call him and ask for his opinion. Neal was Kel's best friend _and_ he was a guy who dated frequently. 

But that made it worse. He was her best friend _and_ a guy. No. Bad decision.

There was only one person she could think of calling under a curtain of secrecy and hope for the best. Kel picked up the phone and dialed as fast as possible. It rang three times before someone picked up.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice asked.

Her jaw dropped. "_Lerant_? What are you doing at Yuki's?!"

"Oh shit!" 

Keladry stood up and listened intently. On the other side of the connection, two people were bickering in furious whispers. Finally, the right person returned to the COMscreen that Keladry knew Yuki had in her apartment. Keladry closed her mouth and gulped.  "Yuki?"

"Hey! Kel! Wow, what's up?" 

Keladry put the pieces together. "Oh, tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?" Yuki forced a giggle. It only proved Kel's assumption.

"Nothing. Look, if I just, um… woke the two of you up, then I can call somebody e—"

"Two? Two of who? I'm the only one here. I have no idea what you're talking about," Yuki replied. She had just come back from a trip yesterday. Faleron had told Keladry this when he was hoping to meet Fia, but she was still out of town. Kel felt sort of guilty now. She also knew that Neal was a little interested in Yuki, but that hope would have to be dashed to pieces.

"I'll call Lalasa, it's okay." Lalasa would never let Kel hear the end of it, but she couldn't talk to Yuki _now_.

The Riders' Own demolitionist scoffed. "Oh, no. You called me and we're going to talk, Mindelan. So what's the problem?"

Keladry sat down on her bed again. "It's um, about this date I have at the carnival."

"And the problem is? What, is he an ex of someone you know?"

"Oh, no."

"Do a lot of girls eye him when you two go out?"

Keladry blinked. She honestly couldn't remember if anyone had ever looked at them when they were at the Alpheus. She frowned. "I don't think so."

Yuki yawned. "Well, you tell me what the problem is. Obviously, I can't guess it."

"I'm really nervous about being a complete dweeb in front of him."

"Aww, Kel. You don't have much dating experience, do you?"

"Try never."

"Oh! So this is your first?"

"No, I had lunch with him before. But that was just lunch. This is a night at a carnival."

Lerant said something in the background. Yuki covered up the microphone and spoke to him. The COMscreen was grabbed from Yuki and the next thing Kel knew, Lerant was unwittingly giving her advice. 

"Just relax. Guys don't really care about the stupid things you might end up doing. Trust me, we're more worried about tripping and bumbling around than you are. Act like nothing in the world could bother you. Talk about things you have in common. You'll do fine," he said, yawning. 

"Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome." He paused. "Do you know what to wear?"

Kel wrinkled her nose. _Is he going to give me fashion advice?_

"Go for tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt.  I think he might like that on you, whoever he is. I guess you could have a _little_ makeup. I don't think you need it. Are you sure we don't know this guy?"

"I'm sure." _Thank the gods._

He yawned again. "Oh, all right. Have fun."

They hung up. Keladry shook her head and put the phone back on her nightstand. Of all the odd conversations to have that week, she thought she'd get one from Cleon but it actually turned out to be from two Riders fooling around. Kel sighed. It was time to get ready.

~~

Liam Irons thrived on punctuality. He was in the outer parking lot to Keladry's housing quarters early. He decided to stay in his car, making last minute checks. Liam turned the rearview mirror so he could check his neatly combed hair and his perfect teeth. He saw grooming as a very important factor in date preparation. He exhaled into his cupped hand.

"Minty fresh. Thought so."

That evening, he'd decided to dress down a bit. He was very at home in business attire, so even wearing an old polo shirt and khakis was a little uncomfortable. It didn't matter. In a few minutes, his mind would be focused on his date, not on his clothes. 

"Keladry Mindelan," he said under his breath. She was definitely new. He wondered how many girls like her existed in the world. He wanted to collect them all and keep them to himself. Kel was very interesting when she wasn't making a big effort to impress him. 

The young lady was shy. She talked freely with him, of course, but there was this little nagging feeling he received that said she was jittery around him. He'd have to remedy that soon because he wanted to get closer to her. Kel was pretty in a way of her own, even if she didn't think so. And she was strong. She was a DJPF Officer.

"A bonus," he whispered as he finally opened his car door. Liam picked up a small bouquet of flowers that had lain in the passenger seat. A good rule was always to have a small gift for a date, no matter what sort of date it was. 

He got out, listened for the beep that would tell him his car was locked, and headed toward the nearest elevator. On the way there, he checked his own pager for any new messages. It wouldn't do to be suddenly interrupted with business that could have been handled beforehand. 

No work waiting for him. Perfect. 

He leaned against the side of the elevator as it went up. Liam wrinkled his nose in disdain at the musty smell of it. His own abode sported a modern elevator that smelled like a pine air freshener at all times. Liam walked out and rested the flowers against his shoulders like a baseball player might do with a bat. 

"'_If I ask you… difficult questions_,'" he sang. " '_If I make improper suggestions_…'" He passed his fingers lightly over his dark hair out of habit. He automatically came to halt in front of her door, smiling confidently at the intercom. " '_Would you find that… a risk to your health?…Would you put me…up on the bookshelf…with the books… and the plants?_'"

He pressed down quickly on the intercom and spoke devilishly, "Hello, it's the Big Bad Wolf. Fancy a carnival instead of a dark forest, Miss Riding Hood?" He grinned mischievously and stepped back from the door. 

_'Desperate… but not serious… Your kisses drive… me delirious,'_ he sang in his head. The chorus really had nothing to do with him, but he couldn't stop thinking of the tune. The door slid open.

"Liam, it's been too long!" she greeted. Keladry stepped aside, so he could enter. If his intercom greeting had been received with confusion, she didn't show it. (In fact, a delightful shiver had gone up her spine, but she wouldn't let anyone know that. The thought of it being delightfully scary thrilled and embarrassed her.)

He dutifully offered her the flowers. "I hope you like them."

Kel took them into her arms and caressed the soft petals. "Yellow roses?"

They went inside so Kel could put the flowers in some water. While she did this, he walked around the living room with his hands clasped behind him, examining her home. He smiled at her from the sofa, where he finally decided to recline. 

"Yellow is for sunshine and sunshine reminds me of you," he said after a few seconds. "Red is awfully trite. I would never give red roses to a woman. It would be an insult to her radiance." He chuckled. "Yellow sunshine is radiant, isn't it? It wakes up the world every single day."

Keladry found a large jar underneath her sink, filled it with water, and set the flowers in there. She supposed she could go out and buy a vase in the morning. _Yes, Kel, think about a vase to keep your mind off the extremely smooth lines that just left his mouth. Say something!_ Kel rejoined him at the sofa. He stood and offered her his arm.

The young woman thought the gesture terribly outdated but very refreshing. She smiled and looped her arm with his.

"I think we'll have a blast at the carnival. A couple of my friends already went there the night before. They had a great time," she said. "There were horses being shown off by their breeders, too. I haven't seen a horse in a long time. They're wonderful."

He led her back into the hall, after she had turned the lights off. Liam looked around them, half-expecting Joren to come flying out a door yelling obscenities and vulgarities. He sneered on the inside. The blonde was an absolutely dreadful waste of space. He didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as him and especially not the same air as his date.

"I have never been on a roller coaster. Have you?" he asked when they were in the elevator.

"No. Never," she replied. Their arms had loosened from each other now.

He smiled. "Then this ought to be a very interesting experience, hmm?"

After a lengthy drive to the edge of the city, they arrived at the peak of carnival attendance. There were lights flashing at all the stands, garish decorations to attract wide-eyed men and women. Keladry never saw so many people before all at one place—people enjoying themselves immensely. Wonderful scents filled the air. Keladry smelled popcorn, corndogs, and candy apples. She watched children run circles around their tired parents.

Liam squeezed her hand. She turned her head toward him. "I didn't think it would be so crowded!"

"The whole city is probably here," he replied with a grin. "Do you want something to eat?"

She glanced around. "Well, I've never had cotton candy… and I've never had one of those huge pretzels before… Oh, wow."

Liam nodded. She didn't realize it, but every little trick Keladry had ever fashioned to keep her emotions from showing was completely forgotten. Her eyes lit up like a child's at all the sights and sounds that the carnival had to offer her. She was practically bursting with happiness.

He bought two large cinnamon pretzels and a big fluff of cotton candy wrapped around a paper cone. They walked around, shoulder against shoulder through the rows of stalls containing trinkets and other crafts for sale. 

"Mmm. We should have eaten _after_ we'd been on some rides," he noted.

"We'll wait a while," she replied, unable to stop smiling. She finished her pretzel and bent down to inspect a bracelet on a display table. It was four rows wide of tiny beads of different blue and blue-green colors. The clasp was gold and from it hung a tiny golden sparrow.

Liam noticed her interest. When she stood straight again, he offered her some of the cotton candy and asked, "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Keladry didn't know what else to say. She didn't wear jewelry. She didn't own any at all. In fact, Keladry remembered scoffing at her fellow cadets when they ooh'ed and aww'ed at each other's earrings and necklaces. A part of her inside was now secretly pleased that she'd started to act a bit more feminine.

Liam handed her the cotton candy stick and dusted his hands off. His other hand was free of the pretzel now, so he took out his wallet. "How much for it?"

A man with very thick black eyebrows hanging low over his eyes came over and said, "Six nobles, seventy-five coppers."

Her date whistled. "All the little trinkets at these places are overpriced, pal." He counted out the bills and coins. "There you go."

"Would you like a box for that, sir?"

"Um, no. She'll wear it, thank you." He picked up the bracelet and held out his hand for her wrist. Keladry, dumbfounded into silence, held her free arm out for him to fasten it around. She held it up to the light, amazed at the fact that something shimmering was now in her possession.

She had no doubt in her mind that her face was flushed. "I wish you hadn't done that. It was expensive for a bracelet."

Liam put back his wallet in his back pocket and shrugged it off. "Money is just money. I don't spend my own on anything, really, so I have plenty to spare." He tilted his face toward hers. "Do you really like it?"

"I love it, now," she replied. He smiled at the response. 

They left the stall, still eating the cotton candy. After this incident, Keladry felt much more comfortable leaning against him as they wandered about. She even permitted him to put his arm around her. A warm, fuzzy feeling formed in her chest and spread to her limbs, all the way down to her toes. She licked the last bit of cotton candy from her fingertips.

"Hmm… I always wondered what carnivals and fairs were like."

"You really haven't been to them, eh? Didn't your parents ever take you to them?" he asked.

Keladry decided to let down her walls and share a part of her past. "Oh, they wanted to. When I was a child," she began, "I was all common sense… no-time-to-play type of girl. My brothers and sisters went. I stayed home and studied like a nerd."

He laughed. "I have a hard time imagining that."

"What about you? You said you've never been to one, either."

"That's true. I was working to make ends meet when I was a boy." He sighed. "Those were tough times. I'm glad they're over. They're over forever."

Keladry sympathized with him. She shyly leaned her head against his shoulder and they continued walking. Liam stopped them in front of a game. He turned to her. "How would you like a humongous stuffed teddy bear?"

Laughter bubbled up from her throat. "Oh, no. It wouldn't even fit in your car."

"Are you sure?" he asked teasingly.

"Don't, really. I'd rather play horseshoes and win some more cotton candy."

He nodded. "Ah, so I've found her weakness. Your "ogre's heel" is made of cotton candy, you say?"

"Oh, sugary things are more like Faleron's diet, not mine. It's a wonder that he doesn't become as hyper as Cleon."

"You must introduce me to them sometime," he told her.

"Are you sure about that?"

"What's the matter? Are you ashamed of me?" 

She elbowed him in the side. "I'm more frightened of what _they_ might do!"

They ambled away toward another booth and began playing games. Both tried to toss horseshoes around a metal spike driven into the ground. Keladry laughed at Liam, who made little frustrated noises when he missed. She found to her embarrassment that she also made a little noise when she was lost.

Having successfully wasted more money, but having barrels of fun, they finally felt fit enough for a few rides. They bought tickets for a roller coaster and stood in line. Shouts and screams echoed around from the fast drops and the hard turns of the attraction.

"Are you having a good time?"

She nodded. "Best that I've had in a long time."

He put his arm around her again. "I was hoping you weren't going to say that."

"What?"

He tweaked her nose. "How in the whole world am I going to top this night, then? I'll have to think really hard for the next date, you know that?"

She elbowed him again, which caused him to retaliate with a tickling attack. She fended him off, but not before laughing loudly and gasping for air. When she was done, Keladry found herself in his arms, and his lips gently pressed against hers.

Time stood still. 

The warm, fuzzy feeling within her consumed her whole being. She melted into the kiss and surrendered to all her senses. At once, Keladry knew that this was what she wanted. This gentle, dove-soft feeling instead of the rough manipulations of desperate hearts… It was like a thousand stars had transferred their luminescence into her. She felt like she could shoot up in the sky and shine for everyone to see.

When he pulled away, her lips were tingling. He smiled at her and traced her jaw with one finger. 

"You're glowing," he whispered into her ear. She was still a little dizzy from the kiss. Joren had made her dizzy once, but she'd been so lost and confused by the end of it that she almost screamed. _This_ sort of dizzy hit just the right spot.

The light, airy sensations she was experiencing were again magnified when they went on the roller coaster. Being flung about so much made her heart beat even faster.  Liam let her cling to his arm as they were jostled about, cheering and shouting as they raced along the track. When they finally reached the end, Keladry let go and gave him her biggest smile that whole night.

_You better watch out, Liam Irons. I just might fall in love with you._

~~

Joren was going out on the wing and he did not like it one bit.

He leaned against the wall opposite of her door, staring at it like it was a cancerous tumor that needed to be removed from his sight. His hands were burrowed into his jacket pockets. A disapproving expression of scorn formed on his face when he noticed he was wearing the same sort of clothes as he used to wear, back _then_. 

All he would do with his appearance was remind her that he was still Jack. And he didn't want to do that. He wanted to destroy Jack Winston because Jack Winston did nothing but lie out of duty and leave out of necessity. 

_At least my hair isn't as short as it used to be,_ he noted uselessly.

He kicked away from the wall and rang the doorbell. 

The door slid open partway. Julia looked out. "Oh! Good, just in time. Hold on a second." She closed the door again and undid the automatic security lock. Then the door slid open all the way. She welcomed him in. "Hi, Jack. I'm so glad you finally made it over here."

_Five years too late,_ he thought. 

"Please, sit down. I was just setting the table."

Joren stood in front of the couch. "Don't bother. We never ate at a table anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking a seat. She didn't say anything after that, so he continued. "What did you have cooking, anyway?"

She smiled and went into the kitchen. "Pasta. My sister gave me the recipe. I think you'll like it."

He nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously. He reached forward and picked up the remote.  It certainly felt like old times.  Here he was, sitting on the couch watching the news. Julia brought the food to the coffee table. It was a replay of a calm night in Jack Winston's mockery of a household.

He took the warm plate into his lap and lifted up his fork. Joren wondered how good of a cook she had really become. The blond man decided it was time to find out.

"You might want to take off your jacket. It will be too hot," she suggested, setting down drinks on coasters. She retrieved another plate of pasta from the kitchen and finally joined him on the couch.

"Right." He set the plate down on the coffee table and removed his jacket. He slung it over the back of the couch and reached for the plate again.

"So, what are you up to these days?" she asked after taking a bite of her meal.

"I work on motorcycles and hoverbikes," he said after a moment. It was partly true. Being a mechanic was the only thing closest resembling a hobby. But it wasn't his source of livelihood. He couldn't tell her the truth. Julia had spent so long believing in Jack Winston, it would be a crime to tear her world apart.

She smiled. "That figures. You always did have an unhealthy obsession with those things."

"Yeah." He ate some of the pasta. It was a little on the hot side, but he held it between his teeth and finally let his tongue touch it after a few seconds. He really ought to get down to business about saying goodbye forever, but Joren didn't have the nerve to do it while they were eating. 

Julia had no problem telling him what she'd been up to during the last five years. She'd lived for a short time with her sister during the pregnancy and half a year afterwards. Then, she obtained a job as a waitress and also as a maid in a hotel. She saved up enough money to rent her own apartment and went on from there.

When they finished dinner, he helped her take the dishes, silverware, and glasses into the kitchen and set them in a tub of water that sat on the left side of the two-part sink. 

"I'll wash them later."

"I can help," he offered, partly out of guilt. He was going to be breaking her heart a second time and he didn't know what else to do.

She waved him away. "No, let's talk some more. I like talking with you, Jack. It reminds me of so much."

He nodded. When they had settled themselves comfortably back onto the couch, they resumed their conversation.

"About what we said on the phone," Joren started.

"I know you said that part of your life is over. I heard that very clearly, although you probably think I'm trying to block it out," Julia said while looking down at her lap. 

He frowned and averted his gaze. "I meant it, though. I'm not trying to hurt you. You know that. But _we_… we can't go back to what was."

She nodded quickly, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I guess I have a lousy time moving on, huh?"

"It's not your fault. I didn't really leave you with much of a closure. Especially since…" he trailed off. They both imagined a little crying baby and a dimly lit hospital. He sighed. "It's not like I don't ever want to _talk_ to you again. I mean—I'll call once in a while. Winter holiday, I suppose."

"To talk about _him_?"

"Yeah. About him."

Julia got up from the couch and went into another room. She returned with an old, worn photograph in her hands. She handed it to him and sat down again. Joren turned the picture over in his hands. He read a birthday date for a little over four years ago. Then he turned the picture around again and traced his fingertips around the small image.

Something in his chest knotted up. He found it hard to breathe suddenly.  "So that's him, huh?"

"Hmm. You can keep the photo. I've stared at it so long that I've memorized every little line." She pointed. "He's got your eyes. That's the first thing I noticed," Julia whispered. "Brilliant blue eyes."

Joren smiled subtly. "I wish Coram could have seen him. I would have made him a godfather."

She frowned. "Do you two still keep in touch?"

He looked up from the photo. He blinked. "Um, no. I haven't heard from him in years. We both had to go our separate ways. Safety reasons."

"You don't do _that_ sort of thing anymore, do you?"

He bowed his head. _Killing, you mean? Working for a man who really did seem like some sort of god? Crying out in anguish every single night for the things I forced myself to do for a mission that failed anyway?_ Joren looked up. Trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, he shook his head and offered a false smile. "No."

The tension in the room was far too thick and heavy. Joren stood up, still looking at the photograph. He started walking around the room. "I've tried looking into some records. I couldn't find anything."

"I've been looking for years," Julia confessed.

"Well then. We'll have something to talk about when I call."

They lapsed into silence, listening to the news report on the holoscreen.  Joren's attention perked up when he heard a familiar name. He went to the couch and sat down again, staring intently at the screen.

"… _Mr. Yukishiro will be seen at the annual Tusaine carnival, donating money to one of the many foundations hosted at the carnival, the Osbern Foundation. The Osbern Foundation works with orphaned and homeless children in urban areas to give them food, shelter, and clothing. They also make it possible for these children to get an education and opportunities that they would never have had before…_"

Was it possible? Joren turned to her. "Did you mean it? When you said that he helped you?"

Julia nodded. "It's true. He gave me money to pay hospital bills, and even when they took my baby away, he paid for a search and he gave me money to live on."

He grasped her shoulder and held her firmly so she stared him straight in the eye. "This is really important. Has he ever done anything to indicate that you must pay him back? Has he ever took advantage of you… or… or anything like that?"

"No, nothing! Jack, I swear, he was the kindest person I'd ever met. I mean it."

Joren stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I'm sorry; we're going to have to cut this short. I need to talk to him."

She also got up and followed him to the door. "I understand." She paused. "Would you please send my thanks to him? He calls or visits during holidays, but that's about it, and I really wish I could repay him for what he's done for me."

The thought of Enishi being so kind to Julia irked Joren. He didn't want to believe it. Enishi had made his life a living hell and now he pulled this nice benefactor act in front of his ex-lover? It was one thing to pull of the act in front of the city. He could care less of the fools in Tusaine who decided to believe him. But fooling the mother of his child was simply too much.

_It's like he wants to be apart of the family that doesn't exist. That bastard. How_ dare _he_, Joren thought bitterly. _You and I are going to have a long talk, Enishi. Don't think for one second that I'm going to go easy on you just because years have passed. I'm still just as deadly._

The trip to the carnival grounds took less time than he anticipated. Perhaps that was because he was going twice the posted speed limit. He took all the back roads he knew to avoid traffic and hoped no one would pick up the tracers in his bike that allowed the DJPF to monitor his bike's speed. When they noticed any DJPF motorist speeding, they often checked to see if they were in pursuit of someone.

_Pursuit of a conniving asshole is a good reason. They could let me get away with it this one time._

He reached the carnival parking grounds and hid his bike behind an old tree. If any of Enishi's lackeys were around, there was no sense in letting them know he was here. Five years may have gone by, but he wouldn't doubt it if someone could ID his bike. He'd done a good job so far of avoiding Enishi's territory in Tusaine. 

"No more avoiding," he said aloud as he strode into the carnival. 

"I need money for admittance," the man at the gate said.

Joren flashed him his DJPF pager ID. The man grumbled and backed off. According to general rule, Joren would have only been allowed access if he was in uniform and in a real investigation. He doubted that the gateman would remember to report him anyway. 

"Where's the Osbern Foundation tent?" he asked a vendor standing in the dirt pathways. He received directions and stalked away without saying thanks. 

What he would say when he finally saw the white-haired man again remained a mystery. Joren couldn't accept those supposedly 'hospitable' actions as genuine. There was something behind it and he wanted to know. He may not love Julia, but he wouldn't let her suffer for his mistakes.

The Osbern tent was large. The white and blue stripes common to its logo made it stand out from the surrounding bright orange and yellow lights and ribbons of other carnival decorations. Joren had to weave around a long line of men, women, and children waiting for the Ferris wheel. 

A familiar figure sat on a metal fold out chair, just at the entrance of the tent. Three other men, one of whom had dyed green hair and pierced eyebrows, flanked him. They saw him at the same time that he saw them. The man with the green hair immediately walked away, blending in with the moving crowds. 

Joren approached, his fists clenched by his sides. The remaining two cronies standing by Enishi's side leaned down to listen to their master's commands. They reluctantly backed away, but kept within close distance. Joren scowled at them and stopped in front of his former 'boss'.

"Did you come all the way out here for me, Joren? You must have. I don't picture you as the carnival type," Enishi chuckled. He gestured for him to sit down in the chair beside him. 

Joren did so, but leaned away. "I've come from Julia's."

The other man grinned. "Really? Are you two getting back together?"

"No," Joren snorted. "That's not the point! How dare you think you can waltz in there and make yourself an established presence in her life! I don't want you there!"

Enishi narrowed his eyes. "It's not your decision, Joren. She allowed me into her life. And I, for one, consider her like a daughter."

"Stop it! Just stop it! I don't care how you consider her, just leave her alone!" He wanted so badly to strangle Enishi, but his hands were clenched in his lap. The fact that Enishi was still sitting beside him as calm and docile as a Hindu cow wasn't helping. Once again, the white-haired man had become spiritually and physically untouchable. And Joren could tell that Enishi knew this little fact.

A sigh escaped the older man's lips. "I'm not really as bad as you think. I do what I do to test you. And I regard the rest with hatred."

Joren leaned back in his chair, swallowing though his throat was dry. "Then why don't you just stop?"

"Every one of my followers would be at the throat of their fallen god in a second. I can't stop yet. I'd like to retire, but I need to do a few more things before I crush their faith in me," he replied in a quieter voice so his two bodyguards wouldn't hear. 

The intimidating figure that Joren remembered from days of old was slowly shrinking into a more familiar form—a human and mortal form. Joren didn't know what to say. Enishi had lowered himself from his cloud to talk to him, and Joren didn't know whether to feel honored or resentful.

"Did you mean to take care of my son and raise him in your world? Take him for your heir because I got away?" he asked in a nearly inaudible whisper.

Enishi shook his head. To Joren's surprise, there was a hint of fondness in his gaze. "Yes and no. I would have raised him, but I wouldn't have let him within a mile of a gun if I could help it."

Joren nodded. He stood up. Things were getting a bit too complicated for his tastes.  "I'll see you another day."

"Ah. Hoping by then you'll work up the courage to kill me?"

The blond man turned around and glared. "Yes. I dare you to do something about it."

"Of course I will. I'll prepare your old room is what I'll do, because you're closer to me now. Closer than you ever were back then and you know it," Enishi smiled. He waved to him. "Tell Julia that I'm coming to visit for Thanksgiving. She cooks excellently, did you notice?"

Joren spat at the ground, turned heel, and stalked away.

A torrent of confused and furious thoughts swirled around in his head. The carnival could have been a circus, or a marathon. His mind wouldn't have noticed the difference. Joren hadn't walked far before he had bumped into the last person he wanted to see that night. He stepped back when his shoulder struck the shoulder of an oncoming walker. Keladry also stepped back, still arm in arm with her date.

"Oh, no. What are you doing here?" she asked, suddenly very anxious about the prospect of having Joren yell at Liam, who likewise shared her attitude.

"I had business," he replied, taking his defensive stance.

The three stood there at the junction between the Ferris wheel and the Go-karts, none speaking, when a shrill beeping noise filled the air. Liam cursed to himself and checked his pager. He stared at it, stifled another unbecoming cry of frustration, and turned to Keladry with apologetic eyes.

"I've got to run. A friend in need, you see."

"I understand," Kel nodded. She knew the loyalty and the responsibility that was included with friends. "Do you have to go right now?"

He nodded. "It looks like it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay!"

Liam turned to Joren. He stared at him judgingly. Finding him worthy, Liam spoke his mind. "I know we didn't get off to the best of starts, but will you do me a favor and take her home?"

Joren stared at him, recalling all the taunting meanings behind the sentences Liam had spoken to him on previous occasions, which included mysterious allusions to jackals and stones. Joren didn't like it one bit. He didn't like Liam at all, and he hated him all the more for appearing absolutely harmless in front of _his_ partner.

"Yeah," he said. _But I won't do it for_ you.

"I'm glad I can count on you, Stone." Liam kissed Kel lightly on the cheek. She blushed and looked shyly down at the ground, smiling. While she did so, Liam winked deviously at Joren and shared a wolfish grin with him before sauntering away. 

Joren muttered a curse and went over to a bench to sit. Keladry frowned and followed him. She rubbed her arms in the absence of the warmth Liam had provided. She saw Lerant's purpose for sleeveless shirts now. Turning her attention back to her tempestuous partner, she sat down beside him and resumed her normal position of argument.

"What the hell is your problem? I don't understand why you can't just get along with him."

"You would _never_ understand. You're too busy being Miss Goo-Goo Eyes."

"That's my business, not yours," she warned.

"The same about my problem with your boyfriend. Okay?"

"Oh, fine." She looked up at the Ferris wheel they were sitting in front of. A small line of people had already started. She wrung her hands around the corner of her own shirt. "Let's go up! I have some tickets left." Before he could refuse, she continued speaking. "I've never been on one and I swear I won't leave until I've done so."

He glared her, but rolled his eyes in resignation. They got up and stood in line. Five minutes later, they were seated. The bar was extended across their laps, and they rose slowly into the air in the same circular pattern everyone else was in.

Keladry gazed over the whole carnival, relishing in the view. She would never forget the night she'd had with Liam. He was so sweet and funny. He was everything she needed at that point in her life.

She faced her partner again. "So what did you do tonight?"

Joren was also coincidentally looking down below at the bright colored sights. He shrugged. "Dinner at Julia's."

"Oh." A pause. "Is she the…"

"Yeah. She is." He turned his face toward her and scratched his nose. "It's over, though. I just dropped in to be polite."

Her hand balled up into a fist without her notice. "So, what? You're only polite to women you've slept with?"

He glared daggers at her and retorted, "It's different with you and everyone else."

"No, it isn't! That's what I've been trying to show you for a whole year now."

"This ride is too damn long," he muttered. Joren reached into this jacket pocket and extracted a small photograph. He laid his fingers over the image longingly.

Keladry frowned. She leaned over carefully. "Is that him?"

"Yeah."

She offered him a friendly comment. "He looks like you."

"I know. That's the part that gets me," he rasped. Joren didn't know what the whole deal was. He'd never been happier at the thought of having a child, but he'd never felt the urge to weep so much at the thought of having lost him before Joren could even know him. He didn't want to care this much. Joren's body was used to blocking all these caring emotions out and it was a large strain on him to suddenly feel it.

To his chagrin, Keladry recognized his discomfort and laid her head against his shoulder, taking the picture from him and putting it in his pocket again. A part of her still resented him for playing with her feelings, but an even larger part was full of pity and sympathy. 

"Are you happy, Mindelan?"

"Why should I be?"

He rolled his eyes. "I finally have a resemblance of a heart, but instead of teaching me love and happiness, all it's teaching me is grief and remorse."

She lifted her head and leaned her forehead against his. "It'll get better. Just let people help you. I promise, it'll get better."

"It's not that easy! I can't just… let _more_ people bumble into my life. You see what happens when people get close to me. They die. They're almost burned to death. They're kidnapped from their cribs."

 "We'll take it one step at a time."

"I'm not promising anything. Tomorrow morning, I might curse you out _anyway_, regardless of tonight."

She paused. "I won't mind."

It was at that moment that Joren decided he would never understand her.

When they had rounded back to the top again, Keladry frowned. She pointed to the Osbern tent. "I've seen that man before…that guy with the white hair. Some sort of East Yamani name, I think."

Joren breathed in sharply. He turned his eyes downwards at hers. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, I bumped into him on some dark street corner." She paused. "That was the night you let me borrow your jacket."

Joren gritted his teeth and glared at the figure under the Osbern Foundation tent. Without disturbing her, he moved his arm around his partner and held it there protectively. Although he couldn't see Enishi, he could still picture the odd man laughing like the devil.

_"You can't stop me from meeting your women, Joren. You can't protect your women. They trust me freely, so why don't you?"_ Enishi's disembodied voice echoed in Joren's mind.

_Stay away from them,_ Joren thought silently at him. _You've given me one more reason to kill you, Enishi Yukishiro._

_"Your bitterness will do the opposite, my young Anubis. It will kill_ you._"_

Joren shivered. 

~~

Liam leaned against his car door with his arms folded across his chest. Moths fluttered around lights and he watched them while waiting. In time, a man exited the gate and joined him in the parking lot. His green hair shone in the lamplight.

"Hey, Maocorm," Liam greeted.

"Mr. Y wants you to stay out of the blondie's way."

"Too late for that," he retorted bitterly. He nodded. "All right. What else?"

"Be careful dealing with the girl."

"That was a given."

A few seconds passed. The other man kicked the dirt. "I don't like this. Messing with DJPF officers like this… It's too risky."

Liam laughed loudly and cooed.  "Aww, don't you worry that pretty little head of yours, Baby Face." He always called Maocorm that, ironically, because of the pierced eyebrows and the facial scars. "It's all under control. Lend me a smoke, would you?"

"Make sure she doesn't smell it on your breath, man. Good girls like her don't like smokers. It's unhealthy." He snickered and reached into his jacket pocket. 

A lighter was offered and soon, smoke was wafting up into the black sky. Liam exhaled. "Mmm… You know, I'm really getting into this 'dating' thing." He grinned and licked his lips. "She's a real winner. A man would have to be blessed by gods to get a girl like her. I'm certainly enjoying myself."

"I still don't like it."

"You don't like anything."

"And for a damned good reason."

Liam finished his cigarette and ground the butt into the dirt with his heel. He opened his car door. "I'll go hide my car and then we'll go sneak around the back to see the horses and the Shang fighters. Does that sound good to you?"

"Who wants to look at stupid horses?"

"_I_ do, and if you don't, then too bad. Watch your toes, Baby Face. I just might decide to run my tires over them. Who knows what else I might run over?" He got in. His laid back attitude disappeared, replaced with the cold, emotionless expression of a hardened killer. He winked at the green haired man before closing the door.

Maocorm watched him pull out of the parking space and drive away. He started toward the back of the carnival, rubbing his arms as if a chill had descended upon him. 

"That guy fucking scares me." He looked up at the stars. "Goddess keep whoever gets in _his_ way."

~~

Author's note: Duh, duh, DUH! And we have another little tasty episode filled to the brim with Cleon's antics, Kel's insecurity, and Joren's angst. You've seen a good portion of Kel and Joren's inner thoughts, so now it's time to get back to one of our favorite characters! 

The next episode is one a sheer hilarity. That's right, coming to you from the exciting Express Lane of life is Cleon Kennan! – whose dating misfortunes you'll witness in our next episode, "Cupid, Take a Hike!" 

I hope you've enjoyed reading ICBW as much as I have writing it… er, typing it. Please tell me what you think, via review or e-mail! All comments and constructive criticisms are welcome. 

***note.** The song that Liam belts out on his way to Kel's place is "Desperate, But Not Serious" by Adam Ant. Think of 80's, maybe early 90's British pop/rock. It's a guilty pleasure for me, okay? Even if I was far too young during the time. I recommend the song, though! Trying to imagine a young version of Pierce Brosnan (the current James Bond) singing this wonderful blast from the past is very amusing, and a little sexy. :D

-Sulia Serafine © 2002


	11. Cupid, Take a Hike!

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 11: **

**Cupid, Take a Hike!**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading!

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

Kalasin Jasson stared at a map of Tusaine, matching names to addresses. She entered information into her database to take with her. The task would take at least half an hour. It was almost lunchtime. She put down the database besides the map screen.

"Fenrigh, I'm taking a break."

Emmet Fenrigh nodded from across the table. He stretched his arms over his head. "Bring me back a drink."

"Sure." She picked up her knapsack and exited the blank gray room. Kalasin walked through the halls of the DJPF station, rubbing her eyes. 

She couldn't understand why the Tusaine DJPF couldn't handle their problems. Kalasin was a spy. The only reason she came was to visit her brother as well as do some work. Her employer, Myles Olau, suggested that she headed up the guest investigation. 

_I'd rather be up north at the Roof of the World, with the Immortals._ And she really did want to be up north. Ever since the incident at the President's Estate, she had been quite preoccupied with Immortals. She found herself corresponding with the world's top scientists, trying to learn more about them. She didn't know why.

The coffee room was full. A woman saw her and waved to her.

"Hello, Kalasin! I heard you were in town. How's Tortall?"

Kalasin nodded her head respectfully to Buri. "The same as always, Ma'am."

"I'm thinking about taking a vacation so I can visit Thayet. She's bored to death with diplomats, I just know it." She laughed and sipped her coffee. 

The two women took their seats after Kalasin retrieved a cup of coffee and a wrapped sandwich from a free sandwich vending machine that was sitting on the counter. She looked at it skeptically before unwrapping it and taking a bite. It was bologna.

Buri smiled. "So, you're on the case now, too?"

"It seems like it. I was quite surprised to hear that it wasn't resolved yet, especially since this city is under the supervision of you three." The 'three' implied Buri, Flyndon, and Raoul.

"We lost a number of competent officers to the Immortals Expedition. Having to make do with second-rate officers has been troublesome, but we've had a recent shipment of wonderful ones." She paused. "I believe they are close friends of your brother."

Kalasin nodded. "I know who you're talking about. Roald talks about them often when he calls. I imagine I'll have to make a courtesy visit with them as well."

"You sound like it's a chore."

"It is." She took another bite of her meal. "I'm here to spy on suspects and to visit my brother. That's all."

Buri pointed past her shoulder. "Well, I'd like to see you try to get out of this one." She got up and deposited her cup into the trash receptacle. "Good luck."

The illegitimate Jasson frowned and turned to see what her older friend had meant. The corner of her mouth twitched when she saw a tall redhead with green eyes at the door. Kalasin turned back to her sandwich and continued to eat, hoping he wouldn't see her and come over.

She had no such luck.

"Kalasin! I've been looking for you! Your brother told me you'd be here," Cleon chuckled. He took the seat of Buri, who chuckled from the doorway and left. Kalasin put down her food and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She sighed. 

"Hello, Mr. Kennan."

"Oh, come on, now. You can call me Cleon." His cheerfulness was almost contagious. _Almost_.

She rested her hands on her lap. "All right. Cleon. How are you?"

His smile widened. "Just great. It never gets boring in this city, I can tell you that! Chief Flyndon is a lot like Commissioner Wyldon. Adjusting has been no problem."

"That's good to hear," she nodded. "And my brother?"

"Oh, I think Roald is doing fine. He and his girlfriend had a fight for a while, but that ended in no time. They're back to being lovebirds. We should double date with them. What do you think?"

Double date? Kalasin picked up her cup and lifted it to her lips. "I'm actually very busy with work. Maybe another time?"

She didn't _hate_ Cleon, nor dislike him all that much, but Kalasin found it hard to be accustomed to his perpetual enthusiasm. Who in his right mind could remain upbeat every single day? She'd seen many depressing events in her life and retained a pessimistic personality. She also distanced herself when she could. Kalasin didn't interact with other people outside the workplace.

And during normal circumstances, her 'workplace' wasn't a real workplace at all. She spoke with superiors like Myles and Buri, and that was it. Kalasin traveled. She spied and did damage control. That was the extent of her work. 

Cleon didn't seem too disappointed. Maybe he was already planning the next time he would ask her. She hoped not.

"Sure. Okay. I suppose I'll leave you to your lunch." He got up from the table and bowed his head to her. "Later!"

"Bye!" she called. Kalasin breathed a sigh of relief and continued her meal.

~~

Cleon groaned inwardly. _That went great. Yeah, right. _ He looked at his pager for the time. Neal ought to be somewhere in the station. He paged him, hoping to get into a conversation about women and the perils of dating them.

_"I'm at Flyndon's office,"_ was the reply message. _"Come on up if you want to."_

He did just that. 

Neal was back to work. He had to do a series of elaborate stretches in the morning to limber up his muscles as part of his treatment. Neal didn't mind any of it. After more than enough time to heal, he was finally out of bed and back to work. 

"I hope I never get thrown from a speeding car," Cleon said to himself in the elevator.  He finally reached the right floor and proceeded to Flyndon's office. He could see his friend and his boss's silhouette before he even entered.

Neal turned around in his chair. His grin was as broad as winter nights were long. "Hello!"

"You're in a good mood." Cleon pointed to Neal and looked to Flyndon with suspicion in his expression. "Why is he in a good mood?"

Flyndon shook his head ruefully. "After a week of my personal observation, I finally deemed him sufficiently fit to come back."

"Oh."

"Sit down," his boss commanded him. Cleon did so, fidgeting in his seat. He was eager to talk to Neal, who was quite content just sitting, not doing anything at all.

"Was I interrupting anything?" he asked apprehensively. 

"No, not really. I was looking at some light duty that we thought I should take for a while, then go back to the regular stuff," Neal said. He laughed. "You've been getting light duty for weeks and you didn't even go to the hospital!"

Cleon reddened. That particular fact was true. Besides a reasonably difficult task each week, he had been reduced to working at things he considered "child's play." It was hardly exercise for his exceptional marksmanship.

An idea came to him. "Flyn, sir… maybe you ought to increase my workload, then!"

Flyndon raised one eyebrow skeptically. "Are you volunteering for harder work, Cleon?"

"Yes, I am!"

At this, Neal uncharacteristically burst out laughing. Cleon glared at him. 

"What's so funny?"

The older officer attempted to quiet his sniggering. He rubbed at his upper lip. "I'm sorry. It's just… you _hate_ work. Why are you suddenly asking for it?"

Cleon frowned. "I figured that they could use a few extra hands in the bank investigation. Eventually they'll find the culprits and when they raid their hideout, they'll need a sharpshooter, don't you think?"

"Oh. I think I know what _this_ is about," Neal replied dryly. He faced Chief Flyndon, suddenly serious. "I think having him on call for that wouldn't be so bad. You should let him do that along with his regular duties."

The chief sighed. He glanced back and forth from each officer, trying to discern levels of sincerity and gravity. Flyndon eventually nodded. He reached forward and entered something in his flat screen computer. Afterwards, he stood up. They got up from their seats as well, ready to salute if needed to.

"That settles that then, boys. Get out of here before I make you fetch cats from trees."

The redhead pouted. "Hey, I liked doing that! It was so easy, and the kid gave me a lollipop when I returned his kitten!" He paused. "I think it was sour apple. Ick. Never mind."

"I _like_ sour apple," Neal muttered as they left Flyndon's office. 

"Figures. You're as sour as they get."

Neal huffed and flicked the back of Cleon's ear hard. The other man yelped and rubbed his smarting ear. He glared at Neal.

"You're too much like Faleron sometimes."

"I'm his substitute whenever he's not around. Hey, what did you want earlier?" They entered the elevator and went down to the ground floor.  Cleon leaned on the elevator rail, looking at the time on his pager again. 

"Um…"

"What is it? Come on, I'm a man of very little time."

"No, you aren't. You just--"

"You know what I mean. Come on! Out with it!" 

The elevator opened. They exited the building and headed to the car. Cleon shrugged. "Well, let's go to Faleron's first. I was hoping you two would help me out with a problem of mine."

They got into the car. Cleon drove, although he normally wasn't allowed to do so. Neal reclined in the passenger side, looking out the window. He was subtly reminded of the time he was also riding in the passenger seat of a doomed car, bound and tied with scarcely a hope of escape.

"Don't tell me. This problem has two very fine legs and a pair of eyes that could glare you into the ground."

"Well, now that I think about it, I never paid much attention to her legs. I mean… she wears pants all the time, and I suppose there's got to be two very fine legs under there…" Cleon rambled.

"Thus, the very reason you volunteered to be on call for the investigation."

He cringed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Oh yes. But you'll hear a bigger mouthful from Faleron, so I'll stop." He cracked his knuckles and grinned. "So! Are you going to tell me the circumstances to this particular brush with the Ice Queen?"

Cleon glanced sideways at him. "You know, I heard cracking your knuckles like that gives you arthritis—"

"Ice Queen. We're talking about the Spy Girl, come on. Forget the knuckles."

"But arthritis is one of the major afflictions that the elderly have to suffer! Do you have any idea how much money is spent on painkillers and other medications to reduce the swelling of the joints? One day you won't be able to use your hands for anything and I will be there with a walker and no hair saying 'I told you so!'" He sighed. "Dude, I can't tell you how un-cool that is. I want to be one of those elderly people still doing marathons! If I'm not happily married to Kalasin, I bet old chicks would find that _so_ hot. And if I was married to her by then, I'd still want to dazzle her with the good ol' Cleon Kennan strength!"

Neal sank into his seat. "How the heck does Faleron ever get you to shut up?"

~~

He had a day off, finally. Numair Salmalin was visiting again and Daine found no need for Faleron to be around her home office. So, Faleron welcomed his two friends into his home. He smiled when he opened his door.

"I thought you might come here. Want some marble cake? I picked it up from the bakery an hour ago. Very sweet." 

The two men stepped in. Neal immediately spotted the cake on the kitchen counter and also noticed that half was already gone. He rolled his eyes.

"Um, no thanks, Fal. Let's get down to business. Cleon's got a problem."

The former King of Thieves patted Cleon's shoulder, though Cleon's shoulder was about as high as the crown of Faleron's head. "Don't worry, my good fellow. I guessed. Roald's on his way, too. It'll be the Three Stooges plus one."

Neal sat down on the couch. He sarcastically clapped his hands. "Goodie, I get to be the plus one. I like being the plus one."

The other two also took their seats. Cleon propped up his chin on his hands while his elbows were on his knees. He sighed. 

"Is it so impossible for me to get a simple date with that resentful fox?"

Neal snorted. "Fox, he says."

"The boy's in love. It's so adorable I think I'm going to keel over," Faleron added in the same sarcastic tone as Neal. He patted his best friend's shoulder again. "Don't worry about it. Have you ever considered setting your sights on some other woman? A nice young lady who doesn't have a problem with people in general?" He shook his finger. "Because you know, I've heard that they're statistically the type to actually say 'yes'."

Cleon groaned. "You think I haven't thought about that? Of course I have!"

"The chap falls in love with a slightly older woman who will most likely kick him where it really hurts. You know, Neal, I'm starting to think that our friend here is a masochist."

"Agreed."

The redhead whimpered.

"It's okay. I know. It's not your fault your hormonal woman-radar is malfunctioning." Faleron got up. "I'll get you some cake. That ought to cheer you up."

The doorbell rang. Since Faleron was busy, Neal got up to answer it. He whistled a movie theme song on his way to the intercom. He pressed the button. "Short-man's residence. Hello?"

"Cleon?!" gasped a voice from the other side. It was Roald.

Neal let the door slide open. "It was a good impression, you think?"

The Vice President's son shook his head at him. Neal frowned. Then the two men joined their saddened friend on the couch again. Faleron called over to Roald, asking him if he wanted some cake. He ended up bringing three small plates over to the coffee table, two being his own.

Neal sat in the cushiony recliner instead so the Three Stooges had the couch to themselves. Cleon was staring pathetically at the blank space between his feet. This caused Faleron and Roald to each sympathetically put an arm around him, trying to cajole him into a jovial mood.

"Hey, we'll go rent those cheesy horror and slasher movies that you like," Neal offered.

"I don't feel like watching those stupid movies," Cleon grumpily replied.

The three other men exchanged worried looks. 

"Oh bloody hell. We're losing him, boys.  He just insulted his favorite movies," Faleron said.

"Are you _sure_ there isn't any other girl besides my sister that you'd like to go out with?" Roald asked. He wasn't all too happy at the prospect of having Cleon date Kalasin, but they were good friends and he had to put that aside. If it made people happy, he'd support it whether or not he liked it. But that was the part that worried him. Would it really make Cleon happy?

"It's hopeless! Why can't I get her off my mind!" Cleon whined pitifully. 

Faleron raised a fork with cake on it to his friend's mouth. "It's okay," he soothed. "If you want to get this girl, you might as well start thinking like one. Here, eat this. I've seen Fia eat when she gets depressed."

Roald got up and motioned for Neal to follow him. They went into the hallway, just barely out of sight of the living room. The two men leaned the heads closer to whisper.

"I think we should intervene in this whole courtship. I'll call my sister and beg her to go out with him just once. That ought to be enough for Cleon to get his head on straight and see that they aren't suited for each other, right?" Roald asked.

Neal's brow creased. His expression told Roald he was thinking the whole matter over. After a few seconds, he nodded. "I think that's our best hope." He paused. "I mean, _I_ would have suggested that we kidnap him and take him to a stripper's club, but that's just me."

"You're really a sworn bachelor, aren't you?"

"You can bet your life on it," he grinned cheekily. "But that won't stop me from wooing every girl that catches my eye, pal. Poetry, flowers, ballroom dancing—hey, I'm a Queenscove. I'll do it all."

"I wonder if Lalasa likes ballroom dancing…"

They returned to the living room, where Cleon was still consuming marble cake to distract him from his troubles. Roald made a face. "Faleron, stop feeding him. He doesn't have your metabolism. He'll get fat and my sister won't like a chubby redhead."

Cleon frowned. He glanced at the fork poised in front of his lips. "I like cake!"

"No," Roald said, just as if he were scolding his pet dog.

"Oh, all right." He pushed his friend's hand away.

Faleron put the fork down and carried the plate back to the kitchen. While he set the dish in the sink, he glanced back and forth from each man standing. A part of him didn't want to know what they had really talked about. "So, you two have a plan?"

"As good a plan that can be had in this sort of situation…" Neal replied, chuckling at the thought of it all. He could picture it so clearly. Cleon would finally stop nipping at Kalasin's heels and join the rest of them in the real world. Well, he'd join _Neal_ because Roald and Faleron already had girlfriends. He whispered to Roald. "I give the date twenty minutes before Cleon calls it quits."

"Hey! That's my sister you're talking about."

Neal stared at him. 

Roald relented. "Come on, she wouldn't drive him away that quickly. Give it an hour, at least."

~~

"You should have seen the stricken look on his face! Please? Come on! He was eating cake like one of those depressed people you see in those coming-of-age teen movies."

"You mean to tell me the four of you sat around in a powwow like a bunch of women?"

"…"

"The answer is still no."

"But Kally!"

"Don't call me Kally, and no."

"It will only be one night."

"I don't have the spare time."

"If you have the spare time to spend with me and Lalasa, then you have the spare time for one measly date, Kalasin!"

Roald had her there. Kalasin rolled her eyes at her younger brother. Though they were talking by COMscreen, she was still just as threatening as if they were in the same room. She glared at him. "You owe me for this. You owe me _so badly_, that when I ask you to return the favor, you'll try to skip town." She paused. "And of course, I won't let you, because _you…owe… me._"

As each word was sounded out, Roald felt like a nail that was being hammered down in three blows. He nodded vigorously. "Go back to the station. I'll call him right now and tell him to find you there."

"I _am_ at the station," Kalasin reminded him.

"Right. Of course. Well, thank you!"

Kalasin terminated the connection. She huffed. "Little brothers."

~~

Cleon gulped. "I don't know about this, Neal."

"Don't be a wimp. Just ask her. She won't refuse you, trust me."

"I'm sorry, were you there the last time she shot me down?"

Neal shoved him forward into the coffee room. "Don't argue with me, Kennan! Get to it!"

Cleon arms wind-milled, trying to keep himself falling from the push that his friend gave him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he regained his balance and started approaching the back corner of the room where Kalasin was partaking of her usual lunch. 

This time, instead of Buri Tourakom for company, there was a man he had never seen before. She was talking with him and pointing to a database screen between them. The unidentified man shrugged his shoulders and reached into his pocket for something.

"Neal, I can't do this!" He turned around and scurried toward the man still leaning against the doorframe.

Neal made a shooing motion with his hands. "Oh yes you can. Go. Scoot."

"Maybe I should wait until she done talking—"

"Go, or I swear to the gods I'll drag you over there myself," he replied through clenched teeth.

The redhead complied. His heart was pounding in his chest with each step he took toward Kalasin. He wondered what they were talking about. He thought to himself that she was having an important discussion with some guy ten times better than him and would despise Cleon for interrupting. He looked over his shoulder again to see Neal rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles.

_Here goes nothing._

"Hi, Kalasin."

Kalasin and the other man looked up. She nodded to him. "Hello, Cleon. Um, Cleon, this is Emmet Fenrigh. He came with me from Tortall for the investigation."

"Pleased to meet you," Emmet said. He shook hands with him. "Have a seat. I was just leaving."

"No you weren't, Fenrigh," Kalasin spoke up, giving her colleague the evil eye. 

Despite the punishment he was bound to receive later for deserting her, Emmet still stood. "No, I've got a few errands to run. I'll talk to you later. Goodbye, Cleon. Again, nice meeting you."

"You, too," he replied.  He took Emmet's seat and waved to the man as he left the coffee room with his database tucked under one arm like a rolled up newspaper. He returned his gaze to the woman seated across from him. "Well, here we are again."

She smiled briefly, though she didn't feel like smiling at all. "Yes. _Again_."

"Are you busy tonight? Because tonight's the last night the carnival will be here and I wanted to check out their haunted house. I love haunted houses," he told her, gaining more confidence with each word. If he turned around again, he was sure that Neal would give him a thumbs-up.

Kalasin drummed her nails on the table. She remembered her younger brother's words, begging and pleading with her for one little date. The muscles in her jaw tightened as she thought of favors her brother could perform to pay her back. Kalasin finally spoke. "I'm not busy. Why, are you asking me to go with you?"

An imaginary bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Um, yes?"

She nodded. "All right, then. Pick me up at Roald's at seven. Don't be late."

With that, the female spy got up from her chair and walked out of the coffee room, shoving past Neal who had forgotten to move when he saw her coming. The DJPF officer rubbed his arm where she'd rammed her shoulder against him. He winced and walked over to the shocked sharpshooter.

"What did I tell you? A piece of cake."

Cleon smiled. "Yeah." He sighed. "Can't we go back to Faleron's for some more cake? I'm sure he couldn't have eaten it all by now."

Neal shook his head. "Oh, you'll go to Faleron's, but not for cake. You take the rest of the day off. I'll cover your duties, whatever they are. Go to Faleron's, make him fool-proof you for tonight and I'll see you later."

"But cake—"

"No. Scoot. Now."

"You're meaner than Fal. _He'd_ let me have cake."

"Just get out of here, Kennan."

As soon as Cleon left for the parking lot, Neal darted in the other direction, heading toward the room he knew that Kalasin would be in. He skidded around the corners, hearing his shoes squeak on the tile beneath him.

"Watch it!" A woman yelled.

Neal glanced over his shoulder. "Sorry!" 

He ducked and weaved around people filing through the hall and burst into the room at the very back. When the door slid open, a little faster than usual because he shoved it into the slot the rest of the way, two people stood up and stared at him. Their hands were poised at their waists, ready to draw pistols.

"Another friend?" Emmet asked. He sat down again, going back to his map work.

Kalasin stalked forward, grabbed Neal by his collar, and flung him into the hall before her. "What the hell do _you_ want?"

The DJPF officer hit the wall with a resounding thud. He turned around, his back pressed against it while he grinned nervously. "I was going to talk to you about tonight."

She made a disgusted face. "Not you, too."

"No! No, nothing like that!" he assured her, holding up his hands in defense. His eyes were as wide as a deer caught in headlights. "Roald and I just want to make sure that the date goes well for everyone."

"So what? Are you going to check me for weapons before we go to the carnival?"

He looked up at the ceiling, pondering. It wasn't a bad idea, considering who _she_ was and who _Cleon_ was. Gods be, he might be doing the world a favor by that. She growled. His eyes darted back to hers instantly.

"No, of course not. That's stupid. Um… No, actually, Roald and I had a private talk. We know that you don't like the idea of dating our good friend. And we don't like the idea either."

One eyebrow rose in suspicion. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Yes. Roald and I love Cleon like a brother. Really! But Roald doesn't foresee him as a future brother-in-law and I don't like to foresee myself the only proclaimed bachelor in our circle of friends."

"So my brother is looking out for the future of our bloodline and you're just looking out for yourself. Misery loves company, eh?"

"I'm not miserable being single. I'm doing him a favor." He backed off the wall. "And you know, if you're polite to him tonight, he might actually want a repeat date and you don't want that, do you?"

"You're sabotaging your own friend's date?"

He let out a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Kalasin had to hand it to him. She'd heard of some strange stories of betrayal among friends, but this one was absurd. It might provide a good dose of entertainment as far as she was concerned. If it happened to be in her favor, well why not? The spy nodded. "What do you want to do?"

Neal reached into his pocket and produced a small tan colored device. It looked like an ultra-small hearing aid. He held out his hand to her. "Wear this. Roald and I will feed you directions. So far, your hostility towards Red only charms him. You haven't really gotten into his pet peeves."

"Pet peeves?"

"Nope. But we'll tell you as we spot them." He reached into his other pocket and took another item out. It was a black pin that looked like a button. Kalasin took it from him and examined it. 

 Her eyebrows rose, surprised and approving. "A miniature camera. You boys have had time to think about this, haven't you?"

"Not really. I just stole those this morning from my Godbrother. He won't miss them."

"I'll be at Roald's sometime around 1800 hours. Is that where our base is?" she asked, as if it were a top priority mission. Neal blinked, trying to remember if he knew what 1800 hours meant. She glared at him. "It's 6 o'clock."

"Right! Yikes. A lot of us stopped using military time as soon as we got away from our superiors. It's such a nuisance." He rubbed his nose with his sleeve, as if more imaginary sweat had lingered there, too. "Ahem! Yeah, Roald's place is our base. Um, with that out of the way, I'll be off. Thank you very much for cooperating.

Kalasin backed into her room again. She gave him an almost creepy smile. "No, thank _you_."

Neal blinked. He stared at the shut door for a few moments, wondering if he and Roald were going to hell for such a scheme. The officer bit back a laugh. "Nah."

~~

A few hours later, Faleron was giddy. 

At that particular moment, Cleon couldn't figure out whether or not he'd ever seen his friend this giddy outside a candy shop or a casino. It was certainly frightening. The whole world might choose to end at any moment, because Faleron King being giddy without a sugary product or the youngest member of the Rider's own was downright wrong. Cleon would swear to it on a courtroom stand if he had to.

"I didn't think you'd be able to do it. Somehow, I think Roald had something to do with it. That doesn't matter. You've been given a chance and I'll be damned if Kalasin still thinks you're a stupid prat by the end of this night," he told his tall, green-eyed friend. He circled Cleon, 'the test subject' as Faleron was now calling, making many last minute checks.

Hair was combed; teeth were brushed and as white as they would ever get. The test subject had been forced to shower for an abnormally long time, using shampoos that smelled like nothing _he_ had ever smelled before and scrubbing until his skin was almost raw and pink. His clothing had been ironed to the point of perfection and his shoes spit-shined by the former King of Thieves himself.

Cleon was in a lot of pain at that moment. He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. One last detail to the whole charade still bothered him.

"Fal, tell me again why I'm wearing a cup."

"Well, in case she decides to knee you in the groin, my good man."

"Oh. Right." The thought made him cringe.

Faleron removed a bunch of index cards from his back pocket. He looked down at them. "Let's start your fool-proof quiz, hmm?" He cleared his throat. "Considering whom your date is, do you or don't you open doors for her?"

Cleon paused to consider the question. "No. She's fiercely independent. Won't appreciate it."

"Good, good." He moved on to the next card. "You buy a bag of popcorn. Do you gobble it down right away or do you discreetly take little by little and keep the bag with you the whole night?"

"Discreetly take little by little. If I'm tired of carrying around the bag, just throw it away when she's not looking or offer her some. She probably won't want any if I ask, though." Cleon prided himself at the correctness of his answers. He hadn't spent the last few hours drilling appropriate manners into his head for nothing.

The shorter man glanced at his watch. "We're running out of time. We'll skip to the last card." He flipped through the cards until he found the one he wanted. "Okay. When you drive her back to Roald's place at the end of the night and walk her to the door, what do you say and do?"

The redhead's chest puffed out. He grinned. "I tell her that I hoped she had an enjoyable night and say how much fun I had. Then I politely stand there while she says something back and maybe even dismisses me with a 'Goodnight' _and_ a kiss."

Faleron laughed. He reached forward and took Cleon's face in his hands. "By Glory, you've got it!" He faked a melodramatic sniffle. "My little grasshopper is all grown up…"

"Aw…" Cleon blushed. "I've always been grown up."

The hands dropped. "Yes, true, but you haven't been this well behaved. And to think it's all _my_ doing!"

"_Your _doing! Hey, I believe my effort deserves to be rewarded, too!" He eyed the kitchen counter. "Shall we say… with some cake?"

Faleron followed his gaze. It took a mere second for him to shake his head and start to push Cleon towards his door. "Nope. No dice. You have to go to Roald's now and pick her up. Page me if things get bloody awful. I'll try to undo your mess."

"I can bring the cake in the car and eat it on my way there!"

"She'll smell it on your breath and I believe we just spent a superfluous twenty minutes brushing your teeth and making you gargle with the super-minty mouthwash."

"But…"

"No but's! Get! Now!" Faleron opened his door and shoved his best friend out. He closed it behind him before the other could protest. A sigh caused his chest to heave. "Lady Luck, be with him! He's going to need all the luck he can get."

~~

Lalasa Isran loved Roald Jasson. She really did love him with all her heart. Well, not _all_ her heart. The young Carthakian woman folded her arms across her chest and eyed the equipment that was set up in a small dark room of Daine Sarrasri's home that the Councilwoman shared with her two favorite employees. The monitor and the microphones were connected to with numerous wires to create a web of gadgets that Lalasa didn't even want to guess at.

She turned on her heel, marched out of the room, and sought out her boyfriend and his partners in crime. Daine looked up from the paperwork in her lap. She was in her home office, looking out the open door into the hallway.

"Is something wrong, Lalasa?"

Daine's personal assistant stopped in her tracks. She turned to her employer and smiled congenially. "Nothing. Did you have a nice visit with Mr. Salmalin?"

Daine blushed. "As nice as a visit could be. Thank you for asking." She turned in the direction of the living room. "This wouldn't happen to be about Kalasin's date and the boys' helpful preparations, would it?"

"No! Well, maybe. Don't worry about it, Ma'am. The less you know, the better." She resumed her purposeful march toward her targets.

"I'm sure," Daine murmured. "Oh dear…"

In the living room, the three conspirators plotted as carefully as the murderers of Julius Caesar. Though Neal and Roald felt partly guilty, they believed in the long run, everything would be for the best. They had to believe it or else they would chicken out before the date even began.

_Et tu, Roald?_

Roald blinked. Had he just imagined Cleon's voice in his head? He shuddered and started listening to his sister again. She was dressed in black and gray, with a button down blouse that she could sneak the tiny camera onto. He wished that she could wear something more colorful, but she absolutely refused to.

"If I look nice, he might take it as a good sign and we don't want that, do we?" she asked him accusingly. He shook his head no.

The doorbell rang. Neal grinned. "Well here goes nothing."

"Neal! Get to the monitor! You're not supposed to be here, remember?" Roald whispered.

"Oh! Right!" He ran away from them, leaving the two siblings in uncomfortable silence. 

Roald started for the door. He wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his trousers and pressed the intercom button. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Cleon. Who else were you expecting, Roald?"

The Vice President's son smiled. Cleon was in good form tonight. It made Roald's job all the more difficult and guilt-filled.  He opened the door and stepped back. His mouth dropped open. "Hey, you look pretty okay. What did Faleron do to you?"

Cleon shrugged. "It's nothing. Is your sister here?"

Kalasin stepped forward. "I'm here. At least you're on time."

The redhead looked down at his wrist pager. "On the dot."

Roald gazed apprehensively at his sister. "So, what time should we expect you two back?"

"How about eleven thirty? If that's okay with you, _Dad_," Cleon chuckled. He moved aside so Kalasin could pass by him. Roald inched closer to his comrade.

"Now, you take care of her. She's the only sister I've got," he warned. He looked down at the street curb and realized that Cleon was the one behind the wheel. Days of being in the back seat of a car with Cleon Kennan were still fresh in his memory. "And for goddess's sake, drive carefully!"

Cleon clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Dude. It's all under control."

Roald sighed. "If you say so…"

~~

(Neal breathed out a sigh of relief. Cleon had managed to get Kalasin and himself to the carnival in one piece. Maybe during the day, Faleron had also instructed him on _proper_ driving as well. Both Neal and Roald had been hoping for some omen that would allow the date to end before they even arrived at their destination. Things were going too well for their tastes.

Roald grabbed the microphone from Neal. "I'm doing a sound check. Sis, if you can hear me, put your hand over the camera.")

Kalasin did as she was told. The two unannounced watchers slapped high fives. 

(The 'couple' parked. Roald realized something. "Hey! Don't get out of the car. I know you don't care about that gentleman stuff, and I _know_ he knows it. So do the opposite. Make him do stuff for you."

Neal nodded his approval. "Good call.")

Kalasin removed her seatbelt, but sat where she was. Cleon was already getting out of the car. He stopped when he realized that she wasn't doing the same. He frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

She gave him her best glare. "Aren't you going to open my door for me?"

At once, he practically jumped, slammed his own door, and raced to the other side of the vehicle. (Neal and Roald couldn't help it. They cracked up, despite the fact that it was at their dear friend's expense.) Cleon opened the door fearfully, expecting something else worse to happen.

"Sorry about that. I just thought that—"

Kalasin got out. "Thought what? Just because I'm very self-reliant doesn't mean that I won't partake of the more courteous things men could do for me. What? That's what you were assuming, wasn't it?"

Cleon was flabbergasted. "Assume? Me?"

"I should hope not! Now shall we go in or shall we stand here like two idiots? I am not one who is about to stand on display for everyone to point and laugh at." She straightened out her blouse and walked briskly ahead. Cleon shut the door and ran after her like a kicked puppy.

(The two watchers' mouths had formed little O's. Neal leaned in toward his companion. "She's _good_.")

Cleon and Kalasin entered the carnival. She eyed everything around her resentfully, from the cheery men and women laughing and entertaining themselves, to the very complacent dachshund perched upon the stand where you try to knock milk bottles down. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. He kept his hands in his pockets, lest she feel how clammy his palms were.

She scoffed. "I wouldn't trust the food here. There are probably FDA violations everywhere you look."

He frowned. Cleon had just spotted the hypocrisy that she would chastise him for assuming and go right ahead and assume the worst, herself. He honestly didn't like judgmental people and often berated himself when he discovered he was being the same. Maybe it was a passing quality. She was just tense about actually being here and was putting up walls between them for her own safety.

"Well, don't knock it until you've tried it," he told her. "I'm buying popcorn. Do you want any?"

("Say no!" Neal whispered frantically in the microphone. "Remember! Be hateful! Be mean! Be Commissioner Wyldon when he's just finished a bad round of golf!"

Roald frowned. "What?"

"Oh. Nothing.")

Kalasin made a mental note to kick Neal when she arrived home. She answered the negative to Cleon's question. He shrugged to say "your loss" and went ahead to the popcorn stand. While she waited for him, she took a moment to scrutinize the place she was being forced to spend time in.

It wasn't half bad when she thought about it. The place was a retreat for Tusaine's citizens to stop thinking about their jobs and their troubles and simply enjoy themselves. Even the grumpiest looking old-timers were having fun, walking around and seeing the entertainers.

A juggler was tossing around torches while he stood on a raised stage above her. She wondered if he ever got a sense of vertigo. She finally decided that if she were in his position, she'd be more concerned about dropping the flaming torches than falling.

"Back. Are you sure you don't want any?" He held the red and white striped bag out toward her. She glanced down at it.

"No. Well, where's this haunted house of yours? Let's get it over with and leave."

Cleon chewed and swallowed. "Wait a second! I said I'd have you home by eleven thirty. No sense in making it nine o'clock." He pointed down the dirt path between booths. "I thought we could try some rides, or games." He snapped his fingers. "The petting zoo?"

It actually took her an effort not to laugh. But her two watchers went ahead and did so.

The redhead frowned. "So…?"

She looked around. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care."

Time passed. At the petting zoo, Cleon had to wrestle with a goat to keep it from eating his shirt while Kalasin leaned against the rail and watched in amusement. After a few minutes, she had to join him and coax the goat herself. He thanked her and she rebuked him for making her go to the trouble. 

Properly chastised, he followed her out. They went on several rides afterwards. Although Cleon allowed himself to grin and laugh as normally as anyone else, he noticed that she was still being stoic through it all. Being naturally cheery and happy, he couldn't guess why she was so hesitant to let go and relax. It upset him.

"Aren't you having fun?" he asked around ten o'clock.

Kalasin shrugged. "I don't see how civilians consider being tossed around in safety harnesses and carts fun."

Cleon made a mental note to leave out bumper cars. He scratched his head. What had gone wrong? He'd behaved himself, like Faleron told him to. No stupid outbursts of 'cluelessness', no moronic comments as he was prone to have. The sharpshooter had gone to all this trouble and he _still_ wasn't getting results. 

He was near to calling it quits permanently on this one. Lusting after a woman who resented you only went so far. There was only the haunted house left, and he knew that it was everything special to him and nothing special to her.

_Call Fal._

"Could you excuse me for a second?" he told her. She waved him away. Cleon jogged around the corner, hiding behind a tent. He crouched down in the shadows. 

_"I need help. She's not having any fun and I've been super-nice and made a huge effort to do fun stuff, Dude,"_ he paged.

Faleron received the message and came up with an ingenious answer.

Cleon wasn't sure if he understood it at first. It was so out of the blue that he hadn't considered it at all. Considering who Kalasin was and what her tastes were, he _still_ wasn't convinced that it would do anything in his favor. But he was desperate. And his best friend always seemed to know what to do.

He returned to his date, putting on his best and brightest smile. She stood, the bored expression on her face never having left.

"What now?"

He led her to a booth where miniature BB guns and targets were set up. The sharpshooter winked at her and tossed the man beside the booth a few coppers. 

Kalasin lifted one eyebrow suspiciously. She sat on the stool next to his and watched him shoot all his targets without missing the bull's eye once. In fact, he did it so well and without hesitation that she was actually impressed with his talent. So _this_ was how he'd been elevated in DJPF rank so quickly. 

When he was done, the man running the booth clapped and gave him a compliment. Then he reached up and plucked an object from a clothesline where it had been hanging ignored for most of the night.

"You're the first one this whole week to get all of them perfectly. First prize to you, pal."

Cleon accepted it and thanked him. Then he spun around on his stool and offered the prize to Kalasin. She blinked.

"It's for you," he prompted.

The female spy stared at the prize, a mix of confusing emotions running through her head. She didn't know what to make of it, honestly. No one had ever bothered to give her something before, unless it was related to her occupation. This wasn't.

(From where the watchers were in their dark room, Roald frowned and turned to Neal. "A stuffed hippo?")

Cleon shrugged. "I know what you're thinking. Well, if you ask me, better a hippo than a teddy bear! I mean, sheesh, those things are everywhere. Hippos are just as cool, just not as popular." He grinned. "There's so much more to them than wiggling their ears and sleeping underwater." A pause. "I, um, don't know _what_, but I'll probably be looking it up when I get home tonight."

She nodded blankly. "Will you excuse me? I have to find a bathroom."

(Neal snickered. "I think we can call this date as good as over.")

Kalasin left Cleon at the booth and walked a few tents away before she slipped into a shadowed area and leaned against a post. 

("Sis, are you going to bolt _now_? I mean, he has to drive you home, right?" Roald asked her.)

She looked down at the stuffed animal in her hands. The plastic marble eyes looked up at her with all the innocence of a real baby hippo. Kalasin sighed. 

("Sis?")

With one hand, she reached up and plucked the earpiece from her ear and tucked it into her pocket. Then she removed her button camera as well and also put it away.

~~

Roald and Neal stared at their black screen. They stared at it long and hard.

"Oh, man."

"You don't think she…?"

"I don't know! She's _your_ sister!"

"She wouldn't! I mean, why would she? It just doesn't make sense!"

"I've spent years dating women and I'll be damned if I _ever_ understand them!"

~~

When Kalasin returned, she smiled at Cleon for the first time that night. "I'm ready for that haunted house now. Aren't you?"

Cleon couldn't believe his eyes or ears at first. He was about to leap up into the air and yell 'yahoo' for all the carnival to hear, but he restrained himself and simply nodded. He crossed his fingers behind his back as they started walking and whispered a tiny 'thank you' to Faleron, wherever the poker professional was.

The haunted house was one of the best that Cleon had been in for a long time. They got into the first car of a set of five. Kalasin actually laughed good-naturedly at the child who sat behind her when the child had pointed and exclaimed how pretty she was.

Cleon turned around. "You're darn right about that, kid!"

Needless to say, she blushed.

The carts jerked forward. Black wooden doors opened, and the sound effects of ghouls and goblins took surrounded them. It was as cheesy as could be. They passed into different rooms of the haunted house. Animatronics and actors played out supposedly scary and mysterious scenes.

Ghosts created by lasers flew over their heads. Chandeliers shook and the roasted pig on the table mechanically came to life. Possessed dolls asked creepily if the cart riders would play with them and claws reached out desperately from holes in the walls.

Kalasin suddenly reached out for the bar in front of her and gripped it lightly when the carts took an unexpected, jerky turn and rolled quickly down into the basement of the house. She hadn't been expecting it and it almost caused her heart to skip a beat. Cleon shyly put his hand over hers and squeezed. He took her hand and placed it back around the hippo that was between them.

The basement was filled with coffins. Actors dressed as corpses howled with maniacal laughter as they crawled out of the coffins and began ghoulishly dancing.

"I wonder how much it pays to be a corpse actor," Cleon said.

"Probably better than a clown," she replied.

They both laughed.

At the end of the ride, the couple got out, one still holding tightly to her stuffed hippo. They began a friendly conversation as they headed towards the carnival exit. It was almost eleven o'clock.

When they got to the car, he opened the door for her and bowed like a chauffeur. She couldn't stop smiling as she sat down and shut the door after her. He rushed to the other side and got in. 

"I was wondering what you would look like if you smiled," he told her. "For a second back there, I was wondering if it was even physically possible."

She shrugged. "Smiles aren't really necessary in my line of work."

"Well, you're not on duty whenever you're with me. I hope you remember that."  He started the car and they started the long leisurely drive home.

When they arrived at Daine's residence, Kalasin opened her own door, but still permitted Cleon to walk her up the stone steps. He put his hands in his pockets again, hoping they weren't as clammy as he thought they were. 

She stood in front of the door, making no move to ring the intercom or enter the lock code. 

"So," he began.

"So," she mimicked. "Thank you for taking me out. It was definitely something…"

"Wonderful?" he supplied hopefully.

"I'll stick with _new_," she said, hugging the stuffed hippo even closer. 

He frowned. And then, before he could react, she leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips. Then she entered the code into the keypad. The door opened. She took a step across the threshold and turned around. "Good night."

When the door closed, he was still in the same exact position as when she'd kissed him.

And then it all clicked.

He jumped, pumping his fist in the air and whooped loud enough that lights turned in windows across the street. He danced all the way down the steps, danced three circles around his car, and finally got in and drove away. 

~~

Keladry leaned on the rail of the second floor breezeway. She had tried to fall asleep an hour ago, but something was still bothering her. Liam had made another date with her, to go ice-skating although she had never gone ice-skating. That wasn't the thing on her troubled mind. 

As if the god of irony had planned everything out in advance, Joren also entered the breezeway. His face betrayed no surprise when he saw that his partner was also out here, staring out over the city and staring up at the stars. He reluctantly joined her. He leaned his elbows on the rail as well.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"You couldn't sleep either?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I'm thinking about switching to some sort of night shift. All the criminals come out at night and it's boring otherwise."

She nodded. "I know what you mean."

He paused before saying what was on his mind next. "I'm not going to, though. They'd stick me in a bad territory and I don't feel like dealing with particular things."

Keladry turned to him when he told her this piece of information. She wanted to say something else, but she ended up saying, "Oh."

Below, Cleon parked outside the garage. He got out, locked the car, and then proceeded to waltz on the very grass beneath them. The two partners frowned and craned their heads so they could see the redhead as he danced with an invisible partner.

"_'L' is for the way you look… at me…" he sang. "'O' is for the only one… I see… 'V' is very, very… extraordinary and 'E' is even more than anyone that you adore and Love… is all that I can give… to you… Love… is more than just a game… for two… Two… in love can make it—take my heart and please don't break it…_" He stopped and spread out his arms wide. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "_'LOVE WAS MADE FOR ME AND YOU!'_"

He continued dancing all the way to the elevator. And then he was gone from their sight.

Keladry coughed. "I won't deny it. _That_ is the single most peculiar thing I've ever seen him do."

Joren paused a mere half second before saying, "Agreed."

~~

The next night, Daine Sarrasri invited all the friends of her two favorite employees to dinner in honor of Kalasin and Numair's visit. The two guests of honor were seated at each end of the table while the rest took up whatever seats they wanted in between.

Coincidentally, Cleon sat on Kalasin's left and Roald sat on her right. Next to Roald was Neal, instead of Lalasa. The two men were still whispering in confused tones about last night's results. Lalasa, not wanting to take any part in their scheming, decided to sit on the other side of Numair, sitting opposite of her employer, Daine. Faleron talked excitedly with his tall best friend from beside him in quiet whispers—as quiet as they could make them, since both men were very, very pleased. This caused Keladry and Joren to sit across from each other in the only other available seats. 

Keladry squeezed in between Lalasa and Neal, pinching the man in the arm and asking him what in the world all the hubbub was about. He grouchily replied that it wasn't any of her business and returned to his meal.

"So! Kalasin, I hope your stay here has been just as great as mine," Numair said, starting what he hoped would be pleasant conversation.

"Oh, I bet hers was just dandy," Neal muttered. Roald nodded his head in a jerky movement that showed he was just as bitter.

Cleon spoke up. "I think Kalasin had a wonderful time. Didn't you?"

She stabbed at a piece of steak with her fork and ate the fleshy morsel before she answered. "I suppose."

Lalasa, still glaring at her boyfriend and Neal, rubbed her temples. She sighed. "Kalasin, please tell me you enjoyed yourself, despite those two's stupid antics. I hate to think they spoiled your date with Cleon."

"Spoiled? Oh, not at all."

Cleon sputtered. "You tried to spoil my date?" He stared accusingly at the two men across from him. "How could you?!"

Kalasin rolled her eyes. "They _didn't_ spoil it." She looked from face to face at the dinner table. After a few seconds of considering something in her head, she put her fork down. "I'm pregnant. Can someone please get me a drink of water?"

Cleon's fork dropped to the floor and made the only noise after her sentence. His eyes widened in terror as he stared at her. Then his eyes moved toward Roald's across from him. The gaze of the Vice President's son also did the same.

"Oh shit," Cleon squeaked.

Roald and Cleon bolted up from the table at the same time, the redhead frantically running out the dining room at top speed with a berserk Jasson family member furiously on his heels. Everyone was quite taken aback. They had frozen, their eyes wide, afraid to say anything at all. 

Except Kalasin, who continued eating as if nothing had happened.

Finally, Fal leaned forward. "You're not pregnant. You haven't even slept with him."

She nodded casually. "I know. But Roald doesn't know that."

Silence again. 

And then Numair burst out laughing. He pounded his fist on the table, cracking up at the hilarity of it all.  Eventually, everyone followed suit except for the proclaimed stoics, Joren and Kalasin. Somewhere at the other end of the house, a certain redhead screamed.

~~

Author: Hello, hello! I hoped this episode was a break from all the angst I've been writing about Joren! When in need of a laugh, go to Cleon, I say. Tell me what you think! Review! E-mail! Anything at all! I'd like to know what you think.

Just for everyone's information, the song that Cleon sings is "Love Is Made For Me And You" by I don't know who. You'll have to look it up. It's a wonderful song and I think it fit the moment _so well_.

Thanks again for reading! (Don't you dare forget to tell me what you think!)

Sulia Serafine © 2002


	12. Chase

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 12: **

**Chase**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 2 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

Chief Flyndon Whiteford was expecting a slow workday. The air was cold. The sky was gray. Everyone, including officers and criminals, seemed to move sluggishly about the city, craving a warm bed to crawl into. The only thing to look forward to was the winter holiday. And after that, there was another month until flowery spring made its move.

Winter had certainly sneaked up on him that year. He hadn't even noticed the end of fall. Life had been so busy. The investigation of the robberies had been going at snails' pace. Days had turned into weeks, and weeks into a couple of months. It was now December.

He sat behind his desk, wondering if Raoul was coming back anytime soon. Buri and Flyn had discovered that sources of amusement had degenerated in the absence of half the Riders' Own. It was difficult to make jokes without someone making an outrageously witty statement like Raoul did. 

The chief pressed a button on his desktop. "Alice, is there anything in my mailbox? Any messages?"

"One, sir."

"Thank you." He leaned back in his chair and tapped the keyboard in front of him. He gasped when he read the screen.

_"It's not over yet, Friend,"_ the message began. Fly felt a chill tingle his spine.

_"If you thought the Great Gangsters of Tusaine were trouble, then you've seen nothing yet. We're the ones you must fear! Forget those old fogies. They're last week's news. They'll be gone soon, if we have anything to say about it._

_"We'll take our time, though—watching you eat your twisty pastries and drinking with the best, getting your shoes shined for your parties and wearing your winter party masks. Are you scared yet? Do you like this fear? You are nothing. You cannot stop us. We will rule this city soon. And you and the Old Ones will die. Enjoy your winter holiday presents. You'll be_ bursting _with joy."_

Flyndon attempted to find the source of the message. He could not. The DJPF chief clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. A new group had moved into Tusaine, claiming to be even worse than the present mafias.

"Alice," he buzzed the intercom. "Get me the head officers of the Bomb Squad and SWAT teams, and the best half of my First Class officers. Let the rest go about their normal duties."

"Sir?" Alice questioned. "Should I call the First Class officers who are currently in Homicide?"

"No, no. Get me officers that aren't doing anything _really_ important."

"Yes, sir."

~~

Neal woke up mid-snore. His pager was beeping very loudly. He reached toward his nightstand and groped blindly for the watch-like device. As soon as he felt it in his palm, he turned the volume down and withdrew his hand back under the covers with the rest of his body. He let sleep envelope him once again.

Ten minutes later, his doorway intercom began to buzz repeatedly. He groaned and twisted the bed sheets around him even more. This did nothing to keep him from hearing it. He reached for his pillow and buried his head underneath it, leaving a little bit of space for his nose to take in air.

Suddenly, Neal felt cold air blow down from air vent and onto his bare legs. He shivered and drew his knees into his chest. And then his pillow was gone and the sunlight greeted him.

"Ooohhh," he moaned. "What's going on?"

Keladry held the pillow over her head, then smacked him on the back with it. "Get up, Queenscove! We've got an alert!"

His eyelids fluttered as he finally gazed above him and saw his best friend. Neal immediately scowled. "Damn it. She's got her game face on."

_Game face? Since when has being dead serious and fully focused been my game face?_ She wondered. Keladry wrapped her hands around his forearm and began to tug him out of bed. "You are an officer of the DJPF! Get up, Officer Queenscove!"

"Oh stop with the Officer crap, Kel! It's too early!"

"It is 9:15 AM, Officer. Don't make me call reinforcements," she threatened. First, she'd had to call Cleon and wake him up. Luckily for her, he was awake and drinking orange juice when she called. Joren had disappeared from the building before she'd even contacted him. Neal was the only other First Class officer she knew that hadn't answered to the call.

Neal eventually sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "You're killing me, Kel. You're freakin' killing me. Bonehead never woke me up this early, even when he was my roommate at the Academy."

"Well, I'm not Owen and this isn't the Academy. Get up and get dressed."

He muttered something vulgar and stood wobbly. He tottered to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Keladry folded her arms and waited. She glanced at her watch every now and then, trying to remain stone-faced and expressionless though her impatience was driving her crazy.

It took another twenty minutes for Neal to get down to the car. Cleon drove him and the late-sleeper in the squad car while Keladry led them on her motorcycle. Neither man saw why she did. Even though it wasn't snowing yet (as it was apt to do in a northern city like Tusaine in winter) it was still very frigid and cold outside. They turned up the heater inside the car as far as it would go, they being accustomed to reasonably warmer winters in Tortall.

They finally arrived at the station. If Kel was bothered by the weather, she didn't show it. In fact, she'd grown up in a northern town where it snowed even before winter began, so she didn't mind the chilliness of the weather.

"I'm fr-freezing," Cleon groused as they entered the station. They let the artificial warmth of the station's heater wash over them as they went past the metal detector and further into the building. They crowded into one of the elevators, with a man dressed in the black gear of the SWAT team.

"What are you guys doing here? Is something happening?" Kel asked one of the men.

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. A threat was sent to the Chief, implying that the same guys who bombed Mithros might have placed bombs in civilian concentrated places to set off during the holiday."

Neal pounded his fist against the wall of the elevator. "They have lousy timing. After all this long time trying to find out who they are and what they want, they choose the _holiday_ to finally make another move?"

"They're criminals," Keladry said. "They pick the holiday on purpose, just to spite us."

"This really stinks. I planned a visit to Tortall so I could spend the winter holiday with my family!"

"So did I!" Cleon agreed. "I mean, everybody is!"

Kel's face burned with embarrassment. She glanced back and forth from the stranger to her best friend as they exited the elevator. "Not everyone spends the holidays with their family, guys."

They shut up after that. It was a very direct and discreet message. Kel had meant to stay in Tusaine for the holiday, away from her large family like every year since she'd graduated from the Academy.  No one else seemed to share her family-avoidance ethic. And her friend was right. Almost everyone she knew had made plans to leave Tusaine on vacation. Neal and Owen loved visiting their families, and had taken turns staying behind on Academy vacations to remain with her. 

This winter, Roald and Lalasa were visiting his parents. Lalasa wanted to spend the holiday with her 'Uncle Thom' and Jump, but Roald's parents were more demanding and strict. She couldn't bear to see Roald suffer snooty remarks from his own parents because he'd failed to come home one winter.

Cleon had wanted to visit briefly with his parents. His hidden agenda had consisted of seeing his friends who were still attending the Academy, so he had meant to force himself to endure his parents' stoicism. He'd spent his whole life enduring them and trying to catch their eye. Maybe actually living on his own away from them had some effect, he hoped. 

Despite the fact that his parents were serving a sentence in prison, Faleron meant to visit them anyway. He felt very uneasy about seeing them. First of all, he would be inside a prison, with guards and criminals all around—just the sort of criminals he had once associated with. It was like someone would be displaying him a slide show and saying, "this is what would have happened to you. Crime doesn't pay, Thief Boy." Though all of this bothered him, he would go. He hadn't seen them since their trial.

The Riders were going back to whatever families they came from. And those who did not have families tagged along with their teammates who did and would inevitably have a very joyous winter celebration. Keladry did not envy them.

She would have spent a very happy holiday in her apartment, experimenting with cooking recipes that Lalasa gave her and watching holoscreen specials. Perhaps she would invite Liam over for dinner, if he weren't busy. But knowing her luck, he most likely had a family to go home to as well. _Alone again,_ she mused. 

And then Keladry wondered if Joren would have done the same. Be alone, that is.

Neal, Keladry, Cleon, and the SWAT team member gathered in front of Flyndon's office, where others like them were also gathered. A few familiar faces greeted her. Some first class officers from Mithran United had shown up. Wolset spotted them and immediately darted over. He calmed down about four feet away and attempted to look subtle and calm about his approach. Kel smirked.

"Hello. So you're here, too, eh?" he asked, grinning. He and Cleon slapped high fives behind their backs. They had been in touch since the bank incident. Kel could definitely see why. Both young men were alike in personality. They got along very easily. 

She frowned. "Psst," Kel whispered, "Wolset, is your partner here, too?"

"Oh, no. Symric moved to Homicide. Couldn't stand me anymore, I think. I don't have the foggiest idea why." He chuckled and scratched his nose. "Hey! When are we going to get briefed? Or are we going to stand here forever?"

They were eventually herded into a conference room, where a projector had been set up. The message, which Flyndon had received, was displayed for all to read and analyze. Keladry found herself mesmerized by the words. There were so many possible meanings. She couldn't pin down something substantial and probable.

"If you keep staring at it like that, you're going to burn a hole in the wall, you know," a voice whispered teasingly into her ear. 

She immediately put on her mask of indifference and faced the voice. "It's nice to see you, Major Linden. I hope you've been well."

"Oh, certainly. As well as a man could be," he replied. Ulliver sat in the empty chair beside her. "And you?"

She cleared her throat. "Oh, fine."

Chief Flyndon began talking about the mysterious message, but Ulliver leaned in close to Keladry and continued to converse with her quietly. "I know this is a bad time to ask, but I figure I might not have another chance."

"Oh?" she whispered right back.

"Yeah. Are you doing anything this holiday? Wolsie's brother is throwing a party and most of the DJPF officers of Tusaine plan on showing up. I was hoping we could go together." He offered her a pleasant smile, cheery and truthful. It was quite a change from the cocky and almost cynical man she'd met at Mithran United.

Keladry tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, Ulliver. I'm seeing someone right now."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

He inconspicuously arose from his chair and made his way across the room. A random stranger took his place, but did not speak to Keladry. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Pastries! I know what they're talking about!" Cleon exclaimed. Every man and woman in the room suddenly directed his or her attention to the exuberant redhead. He pointed to the words. "Twisty pastries are the little known signature pastries of Freckle Bird Bakery!"

One of Ulliver's second in commands spoke up. "What are twisty pastries?"

Cleon grinned. "Oh, they're the greatest. You see, Mr. Bird uses this—"

"Thank you very much, Officer Kennan. That's quite enough. Since you know where this place is, you and Wolset shall lead a contingent of officers from Major Gayle's squad," Flyn commanded. "Take everything into consideration and go by the book on this one. No goofing, you two, do you hear me?"

"Flyn, wait a second."

This time, everyone's eyes gazed at Joren, who was leaning against the wall to Flyndon's right. His arms were folded across his chest and he was studying the projection very carefully.

"Yes?"

"Suppose these threats are explosive devices. That last line is practically screaming it, though we aren't sure. If we send a group of our officers to that bakery and disarm whatever trap is there, how do we know that the suspects won't subsequently decide to set off the other ones early?" He pointed to the projection. "You need to figure out what the locations are, isolate them, and move in all at the same time."

"When do you think they would normally have been set off?" Buri asked. She had entered the room without anyone else's notice, accompanied by her favorite detectives.

"The holiday," Joren answered. "Three days from now."

Murmuring among the group began. Many were upset that their holiday was ruined. Others were disturbed by the possibility of explosions in places where innocent bystanders could become hurt. Flyndon yelled for everyone to be quiet.

"Fine. We'll figure out all the possible locations for any of the bombs or whatever these are. Then we shall send our people out." He walked across the room and spoke with Buri. While this went on, everyone mused with each other about what the message meant. Keladry racked her brain, but could not come up with anything. 

Cleon and Wolset began investigating business information concerning Freckle Bird Bakery in another part of the station, leaving her alone with Neal and Joren who flanked her on both sides. Joren continued to consider what sort of traps lay at each location while she and Neal went on deciphering.

The next day, four locations were designated as the threat areas: Freckle Bird Bakery, Horse Hooves' Sports Bar, Fancy Footwear, and The Royal Costume Shop. 

"What if it's still too early? The traps might not be there yet," Neal asked Keladry.

"Then guards will be posted throughout the holiday."

He groaned. "I'm never getting back to Tortall."

Keladry patted his back. They stood in the back of the group outside Flyndon's office, waiting for their assignments. In another hour, they were set and ready to go. Joren went to the sports bar. Neal headed to the shoe store. Cleon and Wolset did end up at their bakery. And Kel was forced to accompany Ulliver to the costume shop. Each location had at least six experienced officers on it. If no explosive device were found, they would take turns in pairs patrolling until the holiday was over.

Keladry could hardly stand the tension of being with Ulliver at a time like this. He avoided talking with her if he could help it. Obviously, he was still embarrassed about earlier. She sighed. This was how her holiday was to be spent.

They spent the whole day searching for any strange object in the costume shop. The owner reported that no one strange had come to the shop. Only customers looking for winter masks and costumes. Such was the dress code for celebrations and festivals.

"So, what? Do we take turns standing guard or what?" a woman in the Second Class squad asked. "I told my kids I'd actually get off duty this holiday, not like the years before."

Ulliver sighed. "Don't worry about it, Cheryl. I'll take the holiday shift."

"You have to do them in pairs. Who else is going to sacrifice _their_ holiday?" another skeptic officer questioned. 

The pang of guilt and duty formed inside Keladry's chest. She shrugged it off and spoke. "I will. I had no plans."

"No plans?" the woman named Cheryl repeated. "Honey, are you sure?"

She nodded. Ulliver refused to meet her gaze. Another awkward situation, she mused miserably. _Just what I needed._ Keladry looked around the costume shop. Two officers outside were keeping customers from coming in to pick up their masks while the owner ran around and picked up masks and costumes for those waiting outside. 

Her elbow hit a hard corner. She looked. A clown mask appeared as if it were laughing at her.

~~

Cleon and Wolset sat comfortably. They had searched the whole entire bakery from top to bottom. They had even received a list of baking material suppliers from the owner and manager of the bakery, Mr. Bird. The other officers either stood outside talking or stayed inside, considering other courses of action should any emergencies occur.

"These twisty pastries are good. Two flavors. Man…" Wolset shook his head. He swallowed his food and set the rest of it down. "What do you think happens if this isn't the place those guys were talking about?"

The redhead across from him frowned. "What else? Civilians get hurt. We fail our purpose." He shrugged. "I wouldn't count on it. I called up some other bakeries and asked them to allow a few officers come in and give their places a quick inspection."

"First Class authority. You know I love it," his companion laughed.

"Mr. Bird! Can we have more pastries? I promise to pay you back this time!"

The man behind the counter rolled his eyes. "Last time you said that, Mr. King had to pay your 'tab.'"

"But—"

"Money up front, Mr. Kennan."

"We're defending your store from who knows what sort of destruction!"

He nodded. "I agree. And I am grateful. But you're doing your job, which you get paid for. And this is mine. And I do intend to get paid."

Cleon cringed. He looked imploringly at Wolset. The other man shot the redhead a dirty look before reaching into his pocket to see if he had any more credits, or at least some actual money. As luck had it, he had none. They finished their remaining bits of pastry. Their mouths salivated just looking at the pastries behind the display glass.

~~

Neal considered himself lucky. Only one place in the whole entire city actually shined shoes. It was in the middle of the business district of Tusaine. Many high class executives stopped by to have their shoes shined before going on to their board meetings. Cleon felt richer just being surrounded by all the patent leather shoes and polishing fluids.

He stood by the cardboard cut out of the shoe store's sponsor, trying to match the dignified and cutting edge expression. Another officer nearby chuckled.

"You look like him. Almost."

"I do?" He was pleased to say the least.

The older officer nodded. "Sure, Queenscove. Just give me a hundred nobles and I'll say you look like the President if you want me to."

"Oh, shut up."

Two others, included one of the sales clerks, began cracking up. Neal sat down in one of the plush chairs. He picked up a shoe and turned it over to see the price. He whistled.

"I could buy plenty of shoes for that price."

"That's our Executive Chairman," a sales clerk commented. "The best for the best."

Neal immediately put the shoe back. "I'm definitely not the best of anything."

"You're First Class, aren't you?"

He paused. "Well, yes."

"And that pays very handsomely, right?"

"Of course it does. It's First Class!"

The sales clerk seated himself besides Neal. "And if I'm not mistaken, you're the kind of man who likes to give people good first impressions, correct? Maybe with the ladies?"

"You're darn right!"

"I bet a nice rich, sophisticated woman would find herself approaching you because you're a man who knows how to make an impression—appearance and all! And a meticulous consideration for appearance always includes the best shoes. Right?"

"Right!"

The sales clerk grinned. "Your shoe size, Sir?"

Ten minutes later, Neal held a shoebox and a receipt. He stared at the tiny plastic sheet, determining whether or not the ink had run together to create different digits than he'd wanted to appear on it. One of his squad walked up behind him and cringed upon seeing the receipt.

"Those shoes better be worth it, buddy."

Neal blinked. "It happened all so fast…"

~~

Nothing of suspicion was found at the sports bar. Joren was somewhat disappointed. He had better things to do on his holiday. Everyone else had assumed that he'd had no plans, but he'd had a date with an orphanage database for quite some time. Joren had also planned on a polite phone call with Julia, if he could bear it, and also the party held by Wolset's brother (for the mere detail of free drinks, not socializing).

Two days had passed. The winter holiday was officially there in Tusaine. Men and women would be celebrating the New Year as well as the season. Costume parties would run rampant in the streets. Confetti and alcoholic beverages would spill where it was legal. 

The owner of Horse Hooves' Sports Bar was afraid of losing a lot of profit from the temporary DJPF occupation. He insisted on allowing his favorite customers into the bar. Joren had decided to allow it on the condition of using handheld metal detectors.

"This is crazy, Mac," a patron of the sports bar exclaimed.

"I know. I can't believe someone wants to do my business some ill will. What have _I_ ever done?"

Joren sat at the end of the bar, wishing he could drink something to distract him. Another officer was nearby; drinking on duty was expressly prohibited and Joren didn't feel like a lecture from a fellow officer. All he wanted to do was go home and have a quiet holiday.

A shadow appeared at the doorway. Joren's companion held a metal detector out with one hand, asking the man to put his hands on the wall and to allow himself to be scanned if he wished to enter the establishment. Joren scowled when he saw who it was.

"I have a theory that your face was surgically fixed that way," Liam told him as he sat on the stool beside the blonde DJPF operative. 

Joren glared at him and beckoned the bartender/bar owner for a drink, whether or not the officer at the doorway was looking. Liam chuckled. 

"I had so hoped we'd get along eventually. You can't hate me forever. I've been dating your partner for a while now." The newcomer ordered a martini while Joren ordered a glass of scotch. "What are _you_ doing here, Stone?"

"I'm working," he replied, glancing at his pager for the time. Every few minutes, he made a note to check the security cameras situated at the back entrance of the sports bar. As soon as he was done with this small drink, he definitely meant to abandon Liam at the bar and go about as if he were really busy.

Liam sipped delicately from his drink. He paused. "If you ask me, it's a wild goose chase."

"And why should I have reason to ask you?" Joren demanded.

"No reason. I'm just giving you my honest opinion."

The two men finished their drinks at the same time. Joren pushed his glass away. He swiveled around on his stool and stared at Liam dead on. The other man gazed back confidently and fearlessly at him, daring the other to lash out first.

"You work for him, don't you?"

Liam frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. How else do you know about what my current assignment is?"

He shrugged. "Kel told me last night when she got off duty."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Joren spat. He strained his hand muscles against the tabletop, making an effort not to ball up his fist and punch. It wouldn't do to knock out a civilian while on duty. Especially when it was his partner's boyfriend.

If Liam noticed Joren's anger, he did not show it. He continued speaking. "Of course I expect you to believe that. Have I really given you a reason to doubt me?"

"Hell yes."

A lilting, pleasant laugh poured forth from Liam's lips. "I think I should leave. It seems that I'm not as welcome as I thought I would be. Especially since I had borne you such helpful information."

Joren's eyes narrowed into slits. "Have you?"

"Oh, yes." Liam hopped off his stool. With his hands behind his back, he leaned forward and whispered, "I am pleased to meet you all the time, even if you dislike me. Jack Winston left quite a reputation around these parts when he suddenly went missing and with so many dead men left behind. So very honored, Mr. Winston. You wouldn't believe how very, _very_ honored."

The mysterious dark haired man sauntered out of the sports bar, leaving crisp new noble bills in his wake. Joren also got up, tossing whatever amount of coppers he had in his pocket onto the bar top. He ordered himself not to show any emotion. With a brief word with his officer companion, he went to the back to inspect the security camera records. 

And all during this time, he still couldn't get it out of his head.

_He called me Jack Winston._

~~

_"This is Keladry Mindelan, First Class, District T1. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep. (beep)"_

"Hey, Kel! It's Lalasa. Roald and I just wanted to wish you a Happy Holiday from here In Copper City. I know… you're probably out with your boyfriend or something, but do me a favor and wish the rest of the boys Happy Holiday for us, okay?  Make a wish on the brightest star you see! Don't forget! Take care and see you soon. Bye!"

The automated answering machine recorded the message. A tiny red light began blinking on it. The machine would go unanswered for the rest of the holiday, since its owner was currently out performing her duties. Keladry spent most of the day sleeping, preparing herself for the full night shift that would cause her to stand sentinel with Major Ulliver Linden at The Royal Costume Shop.

Coffee was her greatest weapon. That and cherry flavored caffeine gum that lost its flavor after a mere five minutes. She feared drowsiness the most out of the whole arrangement. The likelihood of attack on one of the most celebrated days of the year seemed next to none.

"Would you like some?" She offered one of her thermoses to Ulliver. 

He blinked. During most of their shift, he had still remained aloof and distant from her. Did it truly bother him that he'd tried to make a date with her only to discover someone else had taken her?  He came forward anyway and took the thermos from her.

"Thanks. Is it still black?"

"Yeah. I have some cream and sugar if you want."

"No thanks." He set down the thermos and patted his arms. "It's too cold in here."

"It's the dead of winter. Of course it's cold," she replied. "And this is actually higher temperature than what's usual for this city. We should have had weeks of snow by now. Not one flake yet." Keladry peered outside the dimly lit front windows of the costume shop.

Ulliver nodded. He took off the thermos cap and put his face near the rising steam coming up from the opening. Keladry sat down again beside him. They drank in silence.

After minutes of letting his eyes wander around the costume filled shop, Ulliver arose and approached a costume rack. "How many people do you think are out there right now, pissed off that they couldn't shop for their winter celebration disguises?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I never really celebrated winter."

He turned toward her. "You haven't?"

"No. Too busy with other things."

"Like what? Spending time with boyfriends?"

Keladry realized why he had changed from being aloof to inquisitive. He was slowly revealing his annoyance at her relationship with Liam. With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her set down her thermos and rubbed her temples. "Is this what it's all about?"

He drank. "I don't know."

"Well, this is the first winter I've ever had one. It's… weird."

"Your relationship or your beau?"

She put the cap back on the thermos and raised the corners of her lips in a secret smile. "A little of both." Keladry bit her lip. "So are you going to be sour about it, too?"

Ulliver frowned. "Oh, so I'm not the only one?"

She was a little hesitant to share this information about her life with him, but it felt so natural. Keladry threw caution to the wind and told him how Joren had been acting since the first time she met Liam. His jaw dropped when he heard some of words Joren had used.

"Well. I'd be jealous, too," he said truthfully. Ulliver squinted at her. "You're really up there, you know? I bet if you stopped to think about it, you'd know that you're the type that makes a wonderful girlfriend."

Keladry stiffened. "I am not. And how can you say Stone is jealous? That's the most preposterous thing I ever heard."

The SWAT team leader chuckled. He sipped again from the steaming thermos. "Considering what _I_'ve seen the two of you do—let's please not forget the garage incident."

She blushed. "That wasn't what it looked like. We were sparring and I pinned him. That's all."

"You sure?"

"If you doubt me again, you'll be walking with a limp tomorrow, Major Linden."

He shook his head, still laughing at her automatic defenses. Keladry tried not to show her irritation by keeping her face emotionless, but it only caused him to laugh longer. Eventually she took the thermos from him and set it down on her right side, away from him. He calmed down and pouted.

"Now that wasn't necessary. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"What feelings?" she retorted and folded her arms across her chest.

Ulliver rolled his eyes. He reached for one of her hands and enclosed it in both of his. "So Stone and I are jealous. Big deal. Your beau better realize how lucky he is to have you. As I said before, you're the type that makes a wonderful girlfriend. You're naturally pretty if you actually combed your hair and started smiling."

"Oh, really?" she drawled.

"And that brings me to point number two." He held up two fingers. "You wouldn't take more than five minutes to get ready to go anywhere. Do you know how many men out there want a girl like that?"

She smirked. "Plenty, if I'm guessing right."

"You are. You're organized—you _influence_ others to become organized… or at least better people. You're very patient and tolerant. Most other girls would give up on their men after seeing one too many sloppy habits. Do you see what I'm saying?"

It was a bit too much to absorb all at the same time. His mouth kept talking, but it all blurred together. Keladry found herself staring at his eyes, attempting to gauge his level of sincerity. She squeezed his hand.

"Just when did a stranger like you become on expert on me?" she asked in a soft voice.

His eyes almost sparkled in the dim fluorescent light. "I see you around. When you hide your heart on purpose, all of a sudden, it winds up on your sleeve."

She leaned her shoulder against him, as she often did with Liam. "I'll keep that in mind, Major. Thank you."

He reached behind her back and retrieved the thermos. "You're welcome." He smacked his lips. "Hmm. Do you think your boyfriend would be jealous if you started bringing me coffee at work? What type of roast did you use? It's wonderful!"

She elbowed him and the side. They both laughed.

~~

In the morning, two officers relieved Keladry and Ulliver from their positions so the night-guards could go home to "catch some Z's." After their conversation, Keladry felt so much better about herself. What her friends and even Liam had tried telling her time and time again finally made sense coming from the lips of an outsider. And that outsider, clever and sarcastic flirt that he was, finally felt comfortable about the "one that got away" though he never had her in the first place.

Instead of going straight home, she wound up at the station, yawning and searching for free fruit cups that she knew were hiding in the coffee room. It was still early morning—dawn, to be exact. Not many officers were around. She was glad. The noise of the morning work rush would never let her get any rest.

She entered the coffee room, yawning. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back like a cat. Keladry even stood on her tiptoes and stretched her legs.

"As much as I'm admiring the view, don't you think you should be doing that at home?"

Keladry opened her eyes and lowered her arms. She glared at her blond partner, seated on a plastic bench against the wall. Joren was also still in field uniform. Dark circles marked the space below his eyes. His shift had apparently been during the holiday eve.

"I'm here for strawberries and watermelon," she replied and retrieved a plastic tub filled with fruit from within a mini-fridge sitting on top of the counter. She also took a plastic fork and then decided to sit beside him.

"Anything happen?" he asked her casually. 

Keladry mentally cried out in frustration. It figured he would go from insult to business in a heartbeat. She'd almost been ready for a verbal battle, but he was taking the back door out.

"No," she answered. 

"Same here." He laid his arm flat against the top of the bench behind Keladry's back while his other hand tapped his lip in contemplation. "I was told this might be a wild goose chase."

_A wild goose chase? _She opened the plastic tub and started eating her breakfast. "You could have spoken up about that sooner."

"It wasn't a reliable source," Joren said darkly.

"Is it ever?" Keladry quipped.

The hand at his lips dropped to his lap. His swallowed though his throat was parched. "You'd better not say that."

She turned to him. "Why?"

"Never mind," he muttered. After a second thought, he spoke again. "Liam Irons was the one who told me it was all a farce."

Keladry finished swallowing her peace of melon and frowned. "What? When was this?"

"Last night," he answered. Joren added, "At Horse Hoove's."

She shook her head and went back to eating. "I'm sure it was just a coincidence he was there," Kel said in between bites. "He happened to be in the neighborhood."

Her partner took the fork from her and popped a small strawberry in his mouth. He chewed. "I'd believe that, too if it weren't for two things." He swallowed. "Number one, he supposedly lives in the rich merchant area of the city. That's where you've gone with him, correct? That bar is on the other side of the city." Joren waved the fork mockingly in front of her face. "Number two, he gave me a hint that said he was an employee of one of the most devious men in the city."

After that mouthful, he expected her to drop her meal and try to punch him. A bystander could imagine his surprise when she calmly took the fork from him, scooted closer, and offered him another strawberry.

"Aren't you mad that I'm badmouthing him?" he asked, slightly confused.

Ulliver's words still echoed in her mind. _Patient and tolerant_. She held up the strawberry closer to his face. "No. I know you, Stone. You might not like a person I bond with, but you wouldn't lie about him. It doesn't suit your personality."

"I have a personality?" he replied in mock-offense.

She let out a deep breath and smiled. "Sometimes."

"You're off your bleedin' rocker, Mindelan," he scowled as he dipped his head forward and took the strawberry into this mouth.

"I know."

Someone appeared at the entrance of the coffee room. Keladry lowered her fork, and Joren removed his arm from the back of the bench. Neal didn't seem to notice how close they were sitting or the almost normal behavior they had been using with each other. His eyes were red rimmed as if he'd been crying.

"Neal?" Keladry put down her fruit tub and walked over to him. Her friend was trembling. "What happened?"

He suppressed a sob from bubbling up in his throat. Neal managed to stammer, "T-tortall Academy burned down during the night."

Keladry immediately felt like someone had punched her in the gut. As soon as the feeling reached her face, her older friend saw and broke down in grievous weeping. She embraced him and rubbed his back, trying to comfort him during the unexpected tragedy. Behind her, she heard Joren get up. 

"I'm going to Flyn," he informed them and marched past. His jaw was set in stone. She could tell deep down he was very angry. Joren may not have liked the Academy, but it had still been a temporary home. And most of his homes managed to get burned down, some way or another.

~~

_"Hello again, Friend,"_ the new message began. 

_"I know you're disappointed that we didn't follow through on our word. We heard it before you—one of your most prized Academies turned into a raging inferno. And we _laughed._ As we see it, many cadets who could have been future Tusaine officers are dead now. And that is the equivalent of the lives we had meant to take. All the better for us. We've enjoyed our holiday immensely. Have_ you?_"_

~~

Author: Hello again! Looks like I've discovered cliffhangers again. Oh, dear me. I've had a reasonably normal episode and now I end it with this tragic note. Something must be horribly wrong with my psyche. I know it seems bad right now, but it _will_ get better. 

It has to get better. I'm not just talking about apprehending criminals and the sort. Look at Kel! She's been going steady with Liam, a plus for her increasing social skills… she's definitely touched a nerve with Joren through tolerance and patience. (I'd like to call it endurance of severe conditions, but that's just me.) Hey, her hard work pays off when he actually _allows_ her to feed him strawberries. I think that's as platonic as it gets, kiddies.

So, tell me what you think! I hadn't planned on brining Ulliver and Wolset back in, but they're pleasant enough. Maybe if I get bored enough, I shall write a parody where Keladry goes on a dating game show with Liam, Ulliver, and Joren as the three contestants. (laughs)

-Sulia Serafine


	13. A Letter to You Part II

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 13: **

**A Letter To You (Part II)**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 2 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

"When did it happen?" Owen asked, his voice raspy. 

"During the winter holiday. I'm told there weren't many casualties, since a majority were on vacation. The others who stayed, though…" Neal trailed off.

The two former Academy roommates were communicating via COMscreen. Owen was at the southernmost part of what geographers called the Roof of the World. He was normally not allowed such a luxury as real-time communication, but Neal had managed to pull some strings, considering the gravity of his news.

Neither one of them spoke it, but both were thinking about their Academy days. One of them always stayed behind during a vacation to keep company with Kel if she decided to stay and take more competency tests to skip courses. She was the reason they graduated so early. Those vacations had turned into study and cram sessions. 

Owen wondered what would have happened if he and Kel were still at the Academy, staying behind on the winter holiday. They most certainly would have been killed.

The fire was said to have started at the dormitories, while the students were fast asleep. A few students on the ground floor were able to get out, but those in the floors above slept halfway through the fire alarm before getting up and realizing that their building was on fire. Tongues of fire had blocked the fire escapes and the stairway.

"Was it arson?" Owen asked.

Neal nodded. "That's everyone's first guess. There's no evidence to prove that it was an accidental fire, caused by some electrical shortage and sparks or… or a careless cigarette or stove. They're still sorting through the ruin."

"Will they rebuild?"

"Yes. Tortall is a major center of DJPF activity. It's the country's capital. They have to." He caught his lower lip between his teeth, thus expressing his uncertain and obviously hurt mood. 

Owen rubbed his eyes. "Well, that's good. And I suppose everyone else will simply transfer to other minor Academies."

"Yeah."

They didn't say much after that. Owen wished Neal well and ordered him to send his greetings to the rest of the gang. Neal complied. The two said goodbye in lifeless voices and ended their COMscreen conversation.

~~

_Dear Kel,_

_How are you doing, Tough Stuff? I called your place a few times, since I'm in range to use the COMscreen, but you weren't home. That's okay. I'll see you whenever I take my vacation._

_Neal told me what happened to the Academy. I feel absolutely awful. After all, we spent some of the best years of our young lives there. I think I was twelve when I entered. I meant to finish my regular school courses there and move on to DJPF courses when I was seventeen. But then Neal and I met you. And you got us on the right track—the terribly fast one, too._

_I'm pretty sure if it weren't for you, I would still be at the Academy, most likely in my final year of DJPF training. I was supposed to be an airport security guard, detecting bombs in packages and leading around a dog that sniffed for illegal drugs. But you… you made me do better things. And I'm very thankful._

_And if weren't for you, Neal would have dropped out of the Academy and do who knows what! Do you remember how far behind he was compared to his peers because he'd stopped school for a long while to help his dad out at his small clinic? And then when Dr. Baird got a job at the DJPF Headquarters, Neal decided to finish school at the Academy and become some sort of traffic officer. I remember it like that. But you turned him around, too._

_I miss those times. Have we grown up that much? We're finally at the stage of our lives when we pine for days gone by. I always thought that feeling would come to me when I was forty. And here it is all ready._

_Well, I have to get going now. Take care and do call me. I'll be here at this outpost for about two weeks. My number's enclosed._

_Love, Owen_

~~

_A little over six years previous…_

"This is all your fault!" Neal growled. He punctuated his remark by hitting the ground with his plastic rake. 

Owen rolled his eyes. "It is not."

"You just had to put it in your back pocket under your jacket, didn't you?"

"My front pockets would show even with my jacket on! I didn't have a choice!"

"Still!"

"Still?_ Still?_ My pants are never going to stop smelling like Twinkies because of _you_!"

In the middle of the night, Neal had decided to test their as yet undeveloped stealth skills to raid the spacious kitchen of the Tortall Academy. Each boy had taken as much food as possible under his clothing without looking too suspicious. The Academy had a rule that no food was allowed in the dormitories unless excused by a doctor.

And Neal's father, Dr. Baird Queenscove, refused to sign a note that said his son needed junk food as a matter of life and death.

They were almost back at the dormitory. Foolishly, they ran straight across the courtyard, where anyone could have seen them. And a certain someone did. The Headmaster, out on a leisurely stroll after a hard day of work, stopped them and asked them why they were out after curfew _and_ running. He had commanded them to sit down and explain it to him.

Needless to say, Owen suddenly remembered the Twinkies in his rear pockets a little too late. The boy had leapt up at once, turning around and looking at his posterior. Headmaster Naxen had lifted up Owen's jacket and eyed the mess with distaste.

The two boys were busted. Big time. For their punishment, they'd been sentenced with courtyard detail and trash duty. A lot of their friends took this opportunity to be as sloppiest as could be during lunch. 

"Hey, Neal, you missed a leaf!" a male cadet called. He was twenty-four years old and graduating soon, but he loved to mess with the lower classmen.

Neal leaned on his rake with his gloved hands, resting his cheek against the length of the handle. He crossed one ankle over the other in a casual pose. "You know, a week ago, all these people were worshipping us. A week ago… we practically _ran_ this school! Upper classmen respected us, too! And now look at them!" He snorted and muttered, "Turning their backs on us so quickly."

Owen shrugged. "It's only temporary. And we did deserve it. We were caught." He paused. "I'm actually surprised the kitchen alarms didn't go off. Maybe they knew we were coming."

"Hopefully everyone will forget by next week and we can resume our rising through the ranks."

"What ranks? We're cadets," his companion said, actually raking the leaves while his friend rested. "Come on, Neal. Get back to work."

The taller boy snorted. "Work. I hate work. As soon as I finish my high school courses, I am _out_ of here! No more combat training, no work detail, and no more DJPF!"

"Neal, don't start that again. Come on, man!" Owen pleaded. Other cadets loitering around the courtyard were staring. He didn't like to draw attention to himself, but with his roommate, such incidents occurred on a daily basis.

The two boys continued their task, although Neal did a less than thorough job. Luckily for them, it was Saturday and many cadets were spending their day in the city. By the time lunch was over, there was only one person left in the courtyard besides them. 

Neal slung the heavy-duty trash bag over his shoulder. He shuffled over to the stone table where the young girl sat. His muscles were exhausted. The courtyard was as expansive as a football field. Walking over every inch and picking up trash made him sore in the mornings. When he reached the table, Neal plopped down onto the bench and set the trash bag by his foot.

The girl across from him was tall for her age, he observed, maybe already 5' 7". He wouldn't be able to tell until she stood. Her short light brown hair was cut even all around, with perfectly straight bangs like a curtain across her forehead. Neal inwardly cringed. She was about as new and green as they came.

"Are you done with this?" he asked bluntly, pointing to the remains of her lunch.

She looked up from the papers in her lap. Her face held no emotion, but her eyes reminded him of a stray pet that was desperately looking for its owner. The girl cleared her throat. "Yes." She added a "Thank you" when he opened up the trash bag and tossed it in. With a groan of effort, he got up from the table bench. The girl frowned. "Excuse me."

Neal turned around again. "Yeah?"

"Aren't you a cadet?" she asked in a bashful voice.

He looked down at himself. "Well, yeah, that's what the uniform means, right? Why?"

The girl's brow furrowed. "No one told me we had cleaning duties."

"This isn't duty. This is punishment." The older cadet chuckled. 

Her eyes widened slightly, betraying her surprise. "What for?"

"Nothing you need to know. Let me guess, you're brand new here, hmm?"

She reluctantly nodded. "How could you tell?"

"Maybe the way you're staring at your schedule like they're your deportation papers. I don't know." He thought for a second, and then offered her his hand. "I'm Nealan Queenscove, but everyone calls me Neal."

"Keladry Mindelan. I'm fourteen," she said, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake that didn't match her timid voice. His eyebrows rose.

"Whoa. Nice grip. So, what, are you in ninth grade? Starting up high school and then moving on to the main attraction?"

Keladry blinked. "Um, no. I'm in twelfth. I was home schooled, and I earned enough credits to be placed in twelfth." She added. "I put in a request to take some more tests so I could already start my DJPF training."

Her new acquaintance immediately paled. _Advanced placement tests? Aw man, she sounds like Stone… I'm glad_ that _jerk finally graduated._ "Well, good for you. I should all ready be graduated—I'm nineteen, you see—but for personal reasons, I'm in eleventh. So is Bonehead."

"Bonehead?"

"Oh yeah. _Owen!_" Neal yelled loudly across the courtyard. "Get over here!" He turned back to Keladry. "You'd like him. He's got a better head on his shoulders than I do, people say."

"Is he on punishment, too?" she asked.

"Yup. We're the rulers of this here institution and I'll be damned if we don't get in trouble during our reign." He flashed her a bright mischievous smile and waved to Owen as the other boy jogged to them with trash in hand.

Neal introduced Owen to Keladry. They also shook hands, this time, Keladry standing up to greet the fellow cadet. The oldest boy nudged his roommate in the side with his elbow. "Get this, dude. She's a grade above us and a year below you in age."

"Really? Wow, that's certainly something."

Keladry didn't know what to say. No one ever talked to her out of the blue before. She simply nodded. Owen snapped his fingers.

"Hey! She could tutor us for the upcoming test. Wouldn't that be jolly?"

Neal rubbed his chin, contemplating the suggestion. He grinned. "It sounds great. And in exchange, we can show her the ropes! What do you say, Keladry? Are you up for the challenge?"

Never having had friends outside her family, she was very eager to make friends. Of course, work would always come first, and if she had to, she would later isolate herself from human contact… but at the moment, so lost within a new place she'd never been before, friends were just what she needed. Even if she had to tutor them.

Owen took her schedule into his hands and examined it. "Let's see… you have the same lunch period as us. And you have Strategy with me… and Combat and Debate with Neal."

The other boy snorted. "I don't see the purpose to debate unless you plan on being a diplomat or a hostage negotiator."

"It has plenty of uses." His roommate wrinkled his nose. "It's too bad we're not in the same grade level, Kel. I'd help you settle in with your core classes."

"Thank you," she replied. "But I wouldn't want you to go to all the trouble."

He waved her off. "Nah, it's fine. Hey, as we said, you could help tutor us."

She nodded. "Maybe you'll be able to pass the advanced placement test and move into the twelfth grade with me."

Neal laughed. "Me? Pass an advanced placement test? Oh, no. You're crazy."

Kel tried not to look offended. Neither boy noticed. Neal and Owen gathered up their trash bags. Their break was over and they needed to get back to work. 

"Okay, so that settles that. Owen and I will give you a tour of the school Monday; we'll show you the ropes of living large at Tortall Academy," Neal chuckled. He mock-saluted to her and waltzed away, his roommate scampering after. Keladry waved weakly, though their backs were already turned. 

She glanced at her schedule once more before stuffing it into her satchel and leaving the courtyard. The brand new cadet had to unpack. And she also had to call her older sisters for advice. 

~~

Keladry had forgotten to ask where to meet the two boys the following Monday, so she simply went to the courtyard again. The day before, she had wandered about the school, familiarizing herself with the layout of the Academy. She had located all her classes and the offices of administrators and staff members. Keladry memorized her schedule and skimmed through her textbooks in her spare time. After all, she wanted to start DJPF training as soon as possible, and there was no way that high school education was going to slow her down.

Being intelligent had never come natural for her. Keladry was simply born ambitious. And ambition was a great a motive as anything else to get her mind and body fit. The first time she saw Alanna Olau Trebond on the holoscreen, an AA officer of the highest degree, Keladry knew she wanted to be just like her. It had spawned a lifelong obsession, which she still surrendered to.

"There you are," a voice said from behind her. She recognized the person as Owen Jesslaw, the docile one of the pair that she had met on Saturday.

She turned and inclined her head briefly toward him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he replied. "You're certainly wide awake." He put his hands on his hips. "Well, come on. We've got an hour before breakfast starts. A lot of people take this time to do last minute homework or get a work out."

Owen began to lead her from the corner of the courtyard toward the center. A paved walkway led to the pond, which was surrounded by a circle of tables. Many students who chose to talk and socialize rather than do homework gathered here. Their ages ranged from Keladry's to even over Neal's age. The older ones scared her a bit. She hoped that those in DJPF training, the "upper classmen" wouldn't look down on her when she tried to earn her way through training.

When they reached their destination, Keladry saw that Neal was sitting on top of the table, with his feet on the bench. His hair was mussed, and he wore sunglasses to hide his eyes. The way his uniform was wrinkled, it looked like he'd been dragged out of bed. Even the turn of his neck was lethargic and slow enough to suggest that he was still dozing.

"Neal! I found her," Owen informed, cuffing his roommate in the chin as he climbed on top of the table beside him. "Come on! Wake up, dude."

Keladry sat on the bench, looking up at the two older boys. She leaned forward. "I'm not sure you're supposed to be sitting on _top_ like that. No one else is."

Neal shrugged. "Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't." He yawned. Keladry noticed that he didn't even bother to cover his mouth. "You've got to relax, Keladry. If you don't relax, this place is going to have its way with you before you even know what's going on." He tipped his head forward so his sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose. She met his eyes. "Have you got a nickname? Keladry sounds too… formal. It's horrible, no offense."

She blushed. "My brothers and sisters call me Kel."

Owen smiled. "I like it. Don't you, Neal?"

"It's a good start. Now, get up here. Get off that stupid bench."

"But—" Keladry began, but he cut her off.

"Don't worry. No one is going to yell at you," he told her. "You have to start playing it cool. If you relax, your fellow cadets will feel at ease talking to you. And then you'll have study buddies and sparring partners. And we can hook you up with some fabulous friends." Here he grinned, showing off his sharp white canines.

Owen scooted over to make room for her on the bench between them. She reluctantly clambered onto the tabletop and glanced from either side of her. "So what do we do? Do we just sit here?"

"Wait," both boys said simultaneously.

It wasn't before long that a teenage girl wearing red hairclips approached the trio. She clasped her hands behind her back and beamed up at the nineteen-year old boy. "Hey Neal." She glanced at Owen. "Hi Owen. Who's your friend?"

Neal graced the girl with a smile. He planted a very soft noogie on Keladry's scalp. "This is Keladry Mindelan. She just started here. Kel, this is the most beautiful and charming Sylvia Farmer."

"Nice to meet you, Kel! I hope you like it here. I know _I_ do." The girl directed her attention at Neal again. "I've got some good news for you, Neal…"

"Oh?" The hand that had been gently grinding the top of Kel's head a few moments ago now rested on her shoulder as calmly as if she were a railing that he leaned upon. She urged herself to be completely still, trying to figure out what Neal was trying to show her in this interaction.

The girl nodded. "Do you know that girl with the head full of bouncy curls in Instructor Franz's class? She likes you!"

Owen whistled. "Hey, I've seen her around. Chili pepper, man."

Keladry leaned toward him and whispered, "What does that mean?"

"Hot and spicy," Owen whispered back. She frowned.

Neal leaned forward and tweaked Sylvia's nose playfully. "Thank you so very much, Madam." As an afterthought he added, "I see Roy first period. Shall I be the delegate?"

Sylvia blushed. "Please do! Bye, you three!"

Neal and Owen waved to her casually. Keladry turned to Neal. "What was that?"

"_That _was socializing. You talk with people. Get to know them. You do them a favor; they do you one. It's a wonderful system. It's just like our deal. You hang with us, we show you the ropes, and you help us study."

"You're just using me for my brain," she said as if it were an undeniable statement.

Owen put a hand on her shoulder. "Whoa, there, Kel. No need for anger. We're friends, right? I mean, after we're done showing you what to do, it's not like we won't hang out. You'll be one of us!"

"Do you mean it?" she asked. Her nonexistent facial expressions did not clue either boy in when they tried to guess whether she was truly angry or not. 

"You betcha," Neal grinned. 

~~

Keladry looked down at her lunch tray. At least breakfast had been recognizable. "What is this stuff?"

"Supposedly very healthy," Owen replied. He leaned over the table toward her plate. "Here. Let me show you a better way to eat it." 

He took her bread roll and cut it down the middle. Then he scooped up the meaty stew onto the bread. After that, he took some of her salad and a couple of Neal's tomato sauce covered meatballs and piled them between the two bread halves. "Voila. I call it… the Owenburger."

Neal snorted. "Bonehead, that sounds like you put _yourself_ in a meat grinder and wound up in there."

The other boy shrugged sheepishly. He offered the makeshift burger to Keladry. "Go ahead. It's the only way to dine, dahling," he said in a faux Port Legann accent. "Now, if only I get my pheasant and caviar…"

 "This actually tastes good," Keladry said after taking a bite. She allowed herself to smile. "Any other food creations?"

"Oh, are you kidding me? Wait until I get to the Jello!"

~~

"Would you just relax? You look like you're about to pounce on the next thing that moves."

Keladry tried to keep a straight face when she heard Neal's comment. They were in Combat now, watching the Instructor give two cadets sparring in the center circle some pointers. In this class, the experienced cadets and the inexperienced ones mixed together so one could learn from the other. When they held sparring matches, only cadets of the same level experience fought. 

"DJPF officers don't really use quarterstaffs and other pole arms, do they?" Keladry asked him.

Neal was resting his own quarterstaff across his shoulders while his arms were casually draped over it to hold it in place. "Sometimes. It depends on the task. We don't start firearms until we're upper classmen. Right now, that leaves us to master the little weapons." He paused. "You're not expected to master them. Many people never do. And that's fine, because they just want to be traffic officers or security guards… Others want to have desk jobs. This combat training is mostly to keep us from getting fat." He laughed. "You see?"

She nodded. 

An instructor turned around. Looking at his watch, he cleared his throat and shouted. "Queenscove! You're up!"

Neal let the quarterstaff slide of his shoulders and into his hands. "Now, I'm not a master at this thing, but I've gotten pretty good with it. Watch, why don't ya? Maybe you'll see you like pole arms."

He stepped forward into circle marked on the floor. Another male cadet stepped in with him. 

"Okay, now set up," the instructor commanded.

Both cadets fell into their stances. Keladry chewed on her lower lip absently, trying to absorb every detail before her. She coaxed herself to relax. Neal wasn't tense. He looked very natural in the circle. The older boy was actually grinning.

"Fight!"

Neal's opponent darted forward almost immediately. Neal stepped back, blocking the strike and spinning around to counterattack. The other boy did not move fast enough and Neal struck him in the back of his knee, causing his leg to bend and the boy to lose balance. 

"Queenscove, one point."

"Let's try this again, buddy," Neal said and offered a hand to his opponent to help him up.

They took their stances again. This time, the boy decided to attack in a combination of moves, which Neal blocked and countered. They moved about almost in a pattern. Jumping and ducking, twisting their bodies around to avoid being struck. The continual sound of wood hitting wood echoed around the practice court. Keladry watched with rapt attention.

After another minute, Neal's opponent twisted the wrong way. Neal changed his position automatically. He leaned toward his left, withdrew his staff back and stabbed it forward again. Just before the end of the staff would have struck the other boy in the chest, Neal stopped. He held the staff at that position, wishing not to actually make contact.

"Queenscove, two points."

Keladry stared in wonder. She had received high marks in biology and she knew that Neal had been aiming for the sternum, the long flat bone joining the two sets of ribs on either side of the torso. If struck, a large welt would have painfully formed. The instructor also appeared pleased with Neal's precision.

Her new friend won his last point almost as quickly as the first. After about three smacks of staff against staff, Neal feigned a strike to the left and then struck out at his right. The end of his quarterstaff once again made contact, hitting the other boy roughly in the shoulder.

"Match goes to Queenscove. Okay, that's all the sparring for today. Put up the staffs. Start working agility drills 1 and 2. Experienced hands pair up with the novices."

Neal put up his quarterstaff on the rack along with the others. Then, he returned to where Keladry was waiting. She was stretching her legs.

"You're really good. How long did it take you?"

He shrugged. "To get like that? I don't know. I've been working on it since I got here." Neal laughed. "This is the only class where I get excellent marks, to tell you the truth. I bet you could become really good at this, too, if you just worked hard enough."

"Owen said that some people work out during the morning before breakfast. That's true, right?"

"Oh, sure. I mean, I'm too lazy to get up and start exercising, but I bet you could do that no problem. Do you want to?"

She nodded. "I think I will. Where do those people go? Do they come here?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah. Any one of the practice courts will do." He snapped his fingers. "I know the perfect person for you to start training with. He really likes teaching other cadets. I'll be damned if he doesn't become an Instructor. Hey! He isn't teaching anyone right now, I think. Should I ask him for you?"

"Who is he?"

"His name is Zell Dincht. Best fighter at this school. I'll introduce you to him at dinner tonight, okay?"

"O-okay."

~~

As the trio walked down path leading to the cafeteria, many other cadets around them shouted out greetings and hellos. Keladry still couldn't believe how popular the two boys were. Neal responded very casually, as if he got this sort of attention every day.

"What did I tell you? They forgot about the work detail in no time," Owen said.

Neal scratched his chin. "So they did. Back to the way things were, eh?"

The two boys slapped high fives over Keladry's head. She rolled her eyes. When they reached the cafeteria, they headed for a table at the center. Despite the number of people already inside the cafeteria, this square table had been left alone. Neal straddled a chair, resting his arms against the top of chair's back.

"You two go ahead and get in line. I'll save the table from the upper classmen."

Owen squinted at the dinner menu from where they were. "What do you want me to get you?"

"Whatever you want. I don't care tonight. Go ahead, I'll be right here waiting."

Keladry and Owen got in line for dinner. Owen showed her the best choices. He told her as they went along about the other food creations he could make with each and every single selection. Just the thought of a few of his creations caused her to say 'eww', but he seemed to like them. So she thought she would give it a chance. 

"Blue Jello, blue Jello…" Owen muttered as he scanned the desserts.

"Why blue?" she asked.

"No reason in particular. I just like blue," he replied. "Ah! Here we go. Gelatin is the best dessert ever. I'm not kidding. Forget cheesecake. Forget sundaes. _This_ is the stuff."

When they arrived at their table again, another teenage boy whom Keladry had never seen before was sitting across from Neal. Owen sat beside his roommate, so that caused her to set down her tray and sit beside this new stranger.

She kept quiet while Owen greeted the newcomer. He was about Keladry's height, with blond hair that stuck up in soft spikes in the front. She couldn't help but glance nervously at the archaic black tattoo pattern on one of his temples. It was very distracting.

"Oh! Zell, I want you to meet Keladry," Neal said, gesturing toward her. "Kel, this is the guy I was talking about during Combat. He's in your grade, too."

The tattooed boy offered his hand to her. She shook it. His grip was definitely stronger than hers, but maybe it was because she wasn't used to the feel of gloves on hands. Zell wore black sparring gloves with the fingers cut off. His presence indubitably intimidated her.

"So! You're the one looking for a training partner in the mornings? I'd be glad to help," he offered with a genuinely friendly smile.

"He's the best unarmed fighter in the school, I guarantee," Neal added. "He could be a Shang if he wants! Hell, I bet he could _beat_ two or three Shangs if he wants!"

Keladry picked up her fork and poked at her food nervously, though she refused to show it in her face. _Be calm. Be as calm as a still lake on a winter morning._ "I'd like that."

Zell slapped a hand on her back. "Great! We'll meet at six in the morning in Practice Court 3, okay?"

"Sure," she nodded vigorously. She needed to take a breather away from this new acquaintance. "Um… will you excuse me? I forgot to get a straw."

"Oh, get two for us, would ya?" Owen asked. 

"No problem." She got up and scurried back to the lunch line. 

Zell looked over his shoulder at her. He turned back to Neal. "She's pretty cute. Sort of shy, but cute. How old did you say she was?"

"Fourteen."

"No way! Mature for her age…She must be really brainy to be in my grade. Think she'd help me out with core classes?" 

Neal snorted. "Get in line, dude. She's _our_ best friend. Right Owen?" He put an arm around Owen and shook him. "Well, anyway, I'm sure she'd help us all. That's what friends do, right?"

Zell glanced over his shoulder again. His cheeks were a tad flushed. "Right."

~~

After dinner, Neal and Owen went straight back to their room. They had forgotten that they had to get their trash to the bottom floor before the janitors took the trash out for the evening. Zell offered to walk Keladry back to her dorm. She still felt incredibly intimidated by the seventeen-year-old cadet, but he was very polite and sweet.

_He could teach me to be as great as Alanna Trebond,_ she thought. _That's all that matters._

"I really am hoping to become a Shang one day, but not until I'm done with high school courses. Then, I'll take a break from the Academy to train in the Shang Guilds," Zell was telling her.

"You sound like you have it all planned out," she replied.

"I bet you do, too."

Keladry blushed. She did.

"You look nice when you're red like that," he noted.

She forced herself to stop blushing. _Calm as a lake. Calm! Calm!_ "Th-thanks."

Their conversation continued, though Zell did most of the talking. Keladry didn't know what to say half the time, so she was glad that he could pick up the slack. Being home-schooled as she was never left her with many opportunities to talk with boys that weren't in her family.

When they reached her dorm room, Zell bid her good night and left with an upbeat reminder of the next morning. She returned the goodnight and entered her assigned room. As soon as Keladry was inside, she took a deep breath and finally slowed her racing heart.

Keladry went through her belongings and retrieved her books. She had meant it when she said she wanted Neal and Owen to pass the competency tests so they could join her in the twelfth grade. And they _had_ asked her to tutor them. Curfew wasn't until an hour and a half. That was plenty of time to tutor.

The girl with whom Keladry was sharing a room was not yet in. She was friendly and talkative, but Kel preferred the company of her new male friends, even if they were a bit obsessed with popularity.

Fifteen minutes later, she knocked on the door to their room. The door slid open, revealing Owen still in uniform. He welcomed her inside, but left the door open, as was the rule when a person of the opposite gender was visiting.

"Hey!" Neal greeted from the top of the bunk bed. His uniform was already off; he was ready for bed and wore a white undershirt and flannel pants. 

The room was very small, but scattered with a lot of random paraphernalia. Owen made an effort to tidy up, picking up clothing and papers as he went about. Keladry set down the books on the sole desk in the room.

"What's all that stuff?" Neal asked. He let his arms dangle from the bunk bed rail.

"I meant it when I said I would tutor you. Now come down from there," she ordered. Despite his older age, she felt comfortable commanding him. Maybe it was because he never took anything seriously. Keladry didn't know.

Owen sat down on the floor, tossing a Slinky from hand to hand. The coils were rainbow colored and Keladry glanced away before it distracted her. 

"Let's be serious! This is a prestigious Academy!"

Neal groaned as he climbed down from his bed and plopped onto Owen's bed below. He caught the book that Keladry tossed to him and started to skim through it. He made a face. "Something tells me that we're going to regret this deal…"

~~

_Graduation. Three years later._

"Any regrets?" Keladry asked nonchalantly as Neal came down from the platform with his diploma. 

He put an arm around each of his buddies and started walking with them down the aisle toward their seats. "Well, sometimes, yes. I mean, I regret never _having_ a spare moment of time, but now that we're official _officers_ of the _Dominion Jewel Protection Force_, I mean… we'll have all the spare time in the world! I can go back to flirting with chicks and… and…"

Owen rolled his eyes. "I have a regret! I never had enough Jello…" 

They cracked up. He reached farther behind Neal's back and mussed Keladry's hair. "You have any regrets? Besides not kissing Zell before he left for the Shang Guild?"

She smacked him on the back of the head. "Excuse you! I did not like him that way!"

"Oh, but I bet he liked you, Tough Stuff. You were his favorite _'student'_," Neal added, making kissing noises while puckering his lips. She smacked the back of his head as well. "Ow!"

Keladry cleared her throat. "I have no regrets. I accomplished one half of my goal. I'm DJPF. Now all I have to do is get to AA rank and be just like the officer Alanna Olau Trebond!"

The two boys groaned. "Not that again!"

Neal lowered his arms from both of them. He loosened the collar of his uniform and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, I still agree with Owen. You should have kissed the guy." He suddenly took Owen by the shoulders and imitated Zell's voice. "Oh, Keladry. I love you! You can kick me around the practice courts all you want, darling!"

"Oh Zell!" Owen exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. 

Keladry glared at them, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her foot.

Neal broke away from Owen and started dancing circles around her. Owen followed suit, both of them throwing their hands up in the air and using their fancy footwork to catch the whole graduating class's attention.

"You know what I bet he'd say?" Neal shouted. 

She stifled a cry of frustration and trying to keep a straight face and restraining herself from tripping him. "What?"

_"Oh well I guess it would be nice…"_ he sang. Owen joined in.

_"If I could touch your body… _

_I know not everybody… _

_Has got a body like you!_

_But I gotta think twice…_

_Before I give my heart away_

_And I know all the games you play_

_Because I play them, too…"_

Their fellow graduates formed a circle around the three, clapping and cheering, swaying along with their song. Caps were thrown up in the air and confetti scattered over their heads. Keladry still stood in the middle of it all, tapping her foot and trying to exercise her good humor.

_"Oh but I need some time off_

_From that emotion,_

_Time to pick my heart up off the floor_

_Oh when that love comes out…_

_Without devotion…_

_I guess it takes a strong man, Baby,_

_But I'm showing you the door…"_

Neal and Owen hugged Keladry and started swaying back and forth. She allowed herself a smirk.

_"I got to have faith!"_

~~

_Present time_

Keladry waited patiently, drumming her fingers in front of Neal's COMscreen. Her friend was busy fixing his dinner behind him, humming a tune she couldn't remember.

"Hello?" Owen's face appeared on screen. "Kel! Wow! How are you?"

She grinned. "Hi Owen."

"Hey, Bonehead!" Neal called in the background.

"Hey, dude!" He snapped his fingers. "Kel, I was reminiscing about our Academy days, and you won't believe who I ran into here at the outpost! Some of the more spiritual Shang guilds have made a small pilgrimage here and are heading out tomorrow, but guess who's with them!"

"Who?" she asked, not knowing whom in the world he was talking about.

Neal seemed to pick up on Owen's hint, because he came up directly behind Keladry and jabbed his finger at the screen. He gasped. "No way!"

Owen nodded excitably. 

_"I gotta have faith!"_ both men yelled and started laughing. 

Kel blinked. "Oh." She twiddled her thumbs. "I can't believe you two remember that."

Owen went off screen and talked with someone. Keladry's mouth dropped open. She shook her head at Neal, whispering furiously with him, but he stifled a snicker and held her in place in front of the COMscreen.

A familiar young man with a unique tattoo appeared on screen. "Hi, Kel. Remember me?"

She smiled. "Hey, Zell."

Neal leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Forget you have a boyfriend for fifteen minutes, why don't ya?"

"Neal…" she hissed through clenched teeth.

He smiled mischievously and sauntered away, whistling the tune.

"So," Zell began. "How's life?"

She shrugged. "Okay. A bit turbulent, but I'm dealing with it. It's a whole big guessing game. I don't know what's coming next."

"You got to have faith!" Neal yelled from the kitchenette. "Have you not been listening to the song _at all_?!"

Zell and Keladry blushed.

~~

Author: *doing a little stupid dance while listening to the music* The _only_ good George Michael song, folks. "Faith", kiddies. That is _it_. That is _the_ song. Well, to Neal and Owen, obviously. I'm not talking about that crappy Limp Bizkit remake of "Faith." I'm talking about the original! I've been planning the two of them doing a dance around Kel like that forever. I'm glad I finally had the chance to put it in.

Zell Dincht is a Final Fantasy 8 character. A _very_ cool one. My favorite. He is one cool dude, I tell ya… Too bad I didn't create him either.

So tell me what you think! If you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticisms then please e-mail me! (It's listed at top.) I love getting feedback. :D 

-Sulia Serafine


	14. Gravedigger

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 14: **

**Gravedigger**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 2 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

After the refreshing conversation with her old sparring partner, Keladry left Neal to finish his dinner and make some of her own. He had asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him in his apartment, but Keladry also felt like looking through her Academy yearbook. So she declined.

When she entered the hall, her eyes fell upon her blond partner, exiting the elevator and heading to his own room. She decided that her good mood could be spread to others, if she tried hard enough, so Keladry waited until he came within range. She fell into step beside him.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" he asked testily.

"Nothing. How was your day?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Absolute shit. No leads on the Academy fire."

"So it's definitely arson now?"

"Yeah. There's nothing accidental about the details. It's all so precise, but there aren't any arrows pointing at anyone."

She nodded. "I see." She added, "I'm really going to miss that place."

Joren didn't respond. She threw him a sidelong glance, trying to read his thoughts. It was nearly impossible. The only feeling she could get from him was that he was in a bad mood. And that was practically omnipresent.

"Stone ?"

He stopped in the middle of the hall and glared at her. "What now?"

"You're not one of those natural detectives. It's not your field of work. Maybe if you just relax, you'd work better. See little things you missed before," Keladry suggested. 

"Are you giving me advice?" 

She blinked. "Well, I—"

"I don't need advice. Especially not from _you_," he hissed. A storm brewed in his eyes. They stared at each other, neither moving for what seemed like an eternity. Keladry couldn't help but stare. Caught in this raging storm was a little boy in a boat, trying to see through the cold rain and darkness.

Her observance ended. Keladry backed away from him, lowering her gaze to the ground thoughtfully. When he was sure that she was done speaking, Joren resumed his fevered pace toward his apartment.

Keladry sighed. "It's hard. It will always be hard."

~~

Joren spent the rest of the day sleeping. There was simply nothing else to do. He lay down on his sofa, idly running his fingers through his hair. And after staring at the ceiling with its large number of plaster clusters, he dozed off. 

He awoke from time to time. When this happened, his heavy-lidded eyes glanced about him. His mind could not think of anything else he wanted to do. The day was meant for listlessness, he decided; he drifted back into unconsciousness. 

It was infinitely comfortable there. Slumbering did not hurt. It did confuse him or surprise him. It was a blank void where his being went and remained unbothered. Those who were depressed slept, he once heard. Those who had no energy or vitality simply lain down and let their bodies waste.

He could really see himself living like that.

After a sufficient number of hours had passed, Joren arose and walked to his refrigerator. Because of his prolonged nap, his body would stay awake the remainder of the night. That thought didn't bother him too much. He actually felt the need to go out into the city.

Where, specifically, he did not know. But Joren would know when he got there.

Outside it was snowing. _About time,_ Joren thought and mounted his bike. He wore an extra layer of clothing beneath his leather jacket and rode out into the night. The snow came down and covered the streets. Everywhere, blankets of white had descended upon buildings and homes. With this, the night wasn't so dim and dark anymore.

"I hate snow," he muttered while stopped at a light. He looked around him and discovered to his dismay that he'd returned home. Again.

The drugstore beneath his old apartment was still open. In fact, several men were standing in front of it, talking quietly. One of them looked up. His face contorted in a great show of fear and surprise. 

Joren took off his helmet. He squinted at the stranger, trying to recognize him as well. 

"I'll be damned. I think I'm seeing a ghost, fellas," the man said to the rest of his group. They followed his gaze. In moments, they had copied his expression of incredulousness.

_I shouldn't have come here._ He moved toward the curb and parked. Then he dismounted his bike and tucked the helmet under his arm, as was habit. The men inched closer, but remained an arm's length away. They peered at him curiously.

"I still don't believe my eyes," the first man said.

The blond biker regarded him icily. Now he knew. "Hello, Gratz."

"Holy _shit_! It _is_ you!" he cried. The other men also gasped.

"We thought you died, Jack!"

"Jack! It's true! You've come back from the dead, haven't you, Jack?

Joren nodded in agreement to the many bewildered accusations. "I did."

"Five years ago?"

"No, actually, twice this summer, but if you want, you could say my spirit died five years ago," he replied cynically, though mostly morbidly. It earned him a few dark looks.

The man known as Mitchell Gratz stepped forward. He reached out and touched Joren's shoulder, still afraid that he was hallucinating. When he felt the blond man was solid and not an illusion, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing here, man? You're supposed to be dead! That's what we heard went down that night you turned psycho."

"I what?" Joren frowned. 

"Yeah!" another person said. "You took out your partner and a whole bunch of Yukishiro's guys. Supposedly, you shot yourself. Didn't you shoot yourself?"

"If I had, would I be here right now?" Joren glared daggers at the speaker. "Look, is he around here anywhere?"

"Mr. Yukishiro? He's where he's always been. Hey, Jack! Are you coming back to work with us? I mean… we don't care what happened back then. But it'd be really cool if you did come back with us," Gratz told him. He shrugged. "You're one of us, man. Always."

Joren looked down at the ground. He stuffed his free hand in his pocket, trying to act uncaring about the whole scene. As much as he'd enjoyed the camaraderie, he didn't want to be one of them. Their lives were based on deception, murder, and greed. Most importantly, their lives answered to every beck and call of a man Joren despised. 

"I'll see you guys around." 

After the abrupt farewell, he walked back to his motorcycle and got on. There was only one person he felt like talking to now, and didn't know why.

~~

The sound of revving engines and tires squeaking of pavement was almost like music to his ears. The adrenalin and excitement he received whenever he came here had never truly left him. He saw that now. It didn't feel wrong. After five years, it felt soothing. It was second nature.

Joren went inside the same parking garage as the first night he'd ever raced and discovered that his usual corner had remained untouched. He parked in the shadows. A few other men and women noticed him. They were mechanics or riders, and none of them had ever seen him before. Amazingly, they didn't eye him like competition, though they gazed at him with large frightened eyes like rabbits on the run. 

"'Scuse me."

Joren took off his helmet. He gave the stranger a once over. A teenage boy, in racing gear… multiple ear piercings and bleached hair. _How typical,_ Joren thought. "What?"

 "You're 'im, aren't ya?" the boy asked, in a corrupted Port Legann accent which, _uncorrupted_, made anyone who spoke it seem sophisticated—even the pierced punk. Unfortunately, the boy didn't know how to use his accent well.

It threw Joren off. He shrugged and started to walk past. The boy jogged after him, keeping one step behind. "Go away, kid."

"T'is you! I thought it was! I mean… everyone knows the Jackal by 'is 'elmet, but I know about 'is ride, too! And you're 'im, aren't ya? Tommy told me I was out of my bleedin' mind when I pointed you out and said you were 'im," he grinned and chuckled, overcome with excitement. Joren stopped and turned around.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The boy's expression fell downcast. "You're the Jackal, right? You're… you're legend."

_Legend._ "Is that what everyone thinks?" he demanded to know.

"Well, sure! Every now and then, people claimed to 'ave seen a nice pretty lil' black bike and claimed it was that famous Jack Winston who jumped off Masters Bridge five years ago, but I knew those gits were lyin'! They always do!"

Joren sighed and closed his eyes. The rumors had run wild while he was gone. He was glad he had decided to avoid this part of the city while he'd been back, but what now? If everyone knew that the 'legendary' Jack Winston was back and then saw him in his DJPF field uniform, he didn't want to know what would happen then. He opened his eyes.

"Kid, what's your name?" he asked with both hands on his hips.

The boy must have felt like he was seven feet tall. "Padraig haMinch! All o' the blokes around 'ere call me Paddy, though. _You_ can call me whatever you fancy, Sir!"

The blond DJPF operative suspected that Paddy would have let Joren call him _dipshit_ if he desired so. This caused him to inwardly curse and sigh again. They stood outside the parking garage now. Joren looked up to the second level, looking for the same old lights and silhouettes of executives, lawyers, and murderers. 

He saw no light and no silhouettes. 

"Where's Yukishiro?" he asked Paddy.

"Oh, Mr. Y walks around. No one ever sees 'im. These days it's all in-cog-ni-to," he sounded out the word as crisp as he could, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Damn it," Joren muttered. He turned to Paddy. "Can you do something for me?"

"Sure! Anything! You name it, Sir!" His enthusiasm radiated off in waves. 

"First thing: make sure no one comes near my bike. Second thing: don't tell anyone I'm here, and if anyone suspects, throw him off the trail. And last…"

Paddy grinned, eyes as bright as stars in the evening sky. "Yes, Sir?"

Joren gave the boy one last searching look. He blinked and directed his gaze at the snow on the ground. "Get out of here. Race in professional arenas; get a sponsor. You won't go anywhere down here."

"But…!"

"Just do it."

The boy seemed heartbroken over something. Perhaps he had once been the type to sneak down here and watch the races when he was little. Perhaps he'd been all too eager to become a man and race with his idols and legends. Joren was sickened. There were no idols or even worthy role models in this place.

Paddy surrendered with a heavy heart. "You know what's best, Sir."

He turned heel slowly and began dragging his feet. The sight was so sad and forlorn that Joren felt pangs of guilt start to attack him. He cursed his lucky five million times over and resolved to speak to him one last time.

Joren called back to him. "Hey!"

"Yes, Sir?" The bleached head turned toward him.

"Before you go, tell me what _exactly_ they say about me. You know, the jumping off Masters Bridge part…"

The teenage boy gladly obeyed and began the tale. According to legend, Jack Winston had shot two dozen DJPF officers for killing his best friend, Coram Smythesson, and Coram's little sister. He had been so crazy and enraged, that in the getaway, he rode his bike to Master's Bridge even though it was lifting up to let a ship pass underneath. Everyone saw him ride full speed at the gap and jump, but no one could see through the fog if he had ever landed. And that was the last of Jack Winston, the Jackal.

"You made the jump, didn't ya?" Paddy grinned.

"Never happened. It's all bull."

"What? You mean to tell me my big brother told me a bunch of poppycock? Naw!"

"It is bull. Your brother is either a liar or a drunk."

"Whoa," the boy said with awe rather than offended over the insult. He walked away from Joren appearing very dazed and confused. 

_Who started all of this bull? Maybe Enishi did it to cover his tracks. Maybe…_

Joren had no idea what to do now. There was no hope looking for him in this crowd. If the white-haired man he looked for meant to be incognito, then he most certainly wouldn't be found unless he wanted to be. Joren decided to find a seat and watch the next line of motorcycles line up. He couldn't go back to his own bed. Restlessness kept him prisoner.

He found an overturned trashcan by the rail that separated the track from the spectator area. Some loud man was calling for bets. If Coram were here, Joren might have been able to place a decent bet because Coram knew all the riders. 

_If Coram were here…_

"That's the problem. Reminiscing always brings regret with it."

He didn't look up. The voice was enough to confirm his suspicions. He closed his eyes and said with bitter sarcasm, "I'd ask you to sit down, but you're too far above the idea of sitting on trashcans."

"Someone's in a good mood," Enishi chuckled as he did take a seat. When Joren did choose to look, he discovered that one of Enishi's men had set out a metal folding chair beside Joren's trashcan. This actually caused Joren to sit taller than the mafia leader. It made him uncomfortable and uneasy.

He stood up and brushed himself off.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Yeah."

Enishi shrugged. "I thought you wanted to talk to me. That's why you came, isn't it?" He paused. "I didn't have anything to do with the threats sent to Chief Whiteford. And while we're at it, I also had nothing to do with your Academy burning. That was arson—don't doubt that fact. But I had no hand in it, my young Anubis."

Joren didn't speak.

"That's not all, is it?" Enishi smiled. 

"What's your business with my partner? Why do you have a man watching her?"

The white haired man lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, here I was told he was doing more than just _watching _her."

Joren gritted his teeth. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Joren, Joren, Joren. I did this all for you."

The blond stood up and raised his fists up a little higher. "What the hell?"

Enishi regarded him with fondness of a proud father in his eyes. "You'll see. In fact, because you came to me and asked, I think that I will cease the sport with her. Other gods have played with mortals before. Many times. But this, I shall end if you wish."

"God! You make me sick sometimes," Joren spat.

"Oh, you don't have to call me a god. I know you don't like to."

"That's not what I—argh!" Joren glared at him. He stomped away, the sound of silvery laughter echoing in his mind.

~~

In the early dawn of morning, Keladry received a page from Liam. She was in the middle of breakfast (cereal, fruits, and milk—perfectly nutritious) and wondered why he would contact her so early in the morning. He knew she worked. What could he have to say that couldn't possibly wait until she was on lunch break?

_He could be spontaneously romantic and just say good morning though he doesn't have to,_ she thought, smiling to herself. She dialed up his number and balanced the phone on her shoulder while sipping her milk. It rang once before he picked up.

"Hey, did you page me?"

"Yeah, I did. Good morning, sunshine. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No. So what did you want to talk about? Can it wait until lunch?"

He paused. "Yes, it can, but I'd rather talk about it somewhere else than the Alpheus. Meet me on Roget Street, across from the Council Meeting House."

"That's on the other side of town. Why do you want to go there?" she asked, setting her glass down and taking the phone into her hand.

"I'm doing a favor for an old friend. Covering for him while he has family business to take care of."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll see you then! Bye." Keladry waited for the return 'bye' but he never said it and hung up. She frowned and hung the phone up. Then she returned to her breakfast, trying to shake off a strange premonition dancing just out of reach.

At noon, Keladry took her break from the DJPF station and drove out to Roget Street. She never went to this part of town, though Council members of Mithros came here all the time to hold their conferences. She suspected that Roald knew the way here like the back of his hand, considering he drove his employer everywhere.

She found a parking spot beside the Council Meeting House. Then she walked to the street sign and looked around. This was Roget Street, but things were very quiet and empty. She saw a few children skipping rope down the street by a Daycare Center. A woman in a large coat was sitting on the Daycare's steps, trying to keep warm despite the snow.

Keladry didn't feel cold. It was noon, and the sun was gladly melting some of the snow though the air was still very chilly. She looked to her left and discovered a fenced off field, covered here and there with bouquets of flowers and headstones. A cemetery. A chill went up her spine.

In the distance, a man was sitting on a bench in the graveyard with a shovel leaning against him. She looked around. Liam was nowhere in sight. 

_Just maybe…_ she thought. _No. Why would he be in the cemetery?_ _He said he was covering for a friend._

Her curiosity got the better of her. She opened the gate and walked in, her feet sinking in the layer of untouched snow that had fallen during the night. Keladry placed her hands calmly in her pockets and took her time. Paranoia was the only reason she was even inside this cemetery. 

When she was fifteen feet away, the man on the bench turned around. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, good. You made it. Sit by me, will you?" Liam asked in his usually pleasant and smooth voice. 

Keladry frowned. "What are you doing in here?"

Liam gestured to the shovel. "I'm covering for a friend, like I told you. Some poor kid died last night. This is his grave plot." He paused. "Rising racing star. Motorcycles, I believe." His finger reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "haMinch. That was his name. Hmm. Too bad that car hit him. Freak accident if I ever saw one." A shadow passed over his eyes. "Pure accident."

She hesitantly sat down beside him on the stone bench. Her first instinctive movement was to lean against him, but it didn't feel right today. She glanced around her. It was all too strange for her liking. It sent even more chills up her spine.

"What did you want to talk about?"

He turned to her, a gloved hand reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Liam let out a deep breath and shrugged. "It's not something you're going to like."

"Maybe if you just told me, I'll see if I like it or not."

"Okay, then." He took a deep breath and let it out quickly as he said the words, "I think we should stop seeing each other."

Keladry's world nearly caved in. She stared at him. His face seemed to be chiseled out of marble, unmoving and unfeeling. How many times had that pleasant pair of lips kissed her chastely on the hand? How many times had that cheek rested against her hair? The wind picked up, blowing hard against the couple seated on the bench. Keladry shivered.

She was glad her hands were still in her pockets. She did not wish for him to see them, balled up in fists and nails digging into her palms. Liam observed her, her once loving gaze now focused on the snow-covered ground and half-dug plot before them. He turned his eyes upwards to the sky, a startling bright white, devoid of color or tone.

An eternity and a day passed before Keladry finally cleared her throat and fleetingly glanced at him. "Why now? Why… why stop?"

Liam rubbed his gloved hands together. "I can't hope to explain it to you. I can't really explain it to myself. When this was to have finally happened, I wasn't supposed to feel anything. I'm afraid I do, but not enough to go against…" He trailed off, searching for the right thing to say. "Go against the ways things are," he finally finished.

"And how are things?" she asked quietly.

"Far above us. Far, far above us. I have to get back to work, Kel." He stood up and grasped the shovel handle in both hands. "It was great while it lasted."

She also arose, trying to keep her face as still as marble. "Right. Great while it lasted."

His eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Kel."

"Yeah, that makes the two of us," she muttered and started walking quickly away. She tried not to kick up the snow as she went, though she did manage to disrupt an arrangement of flowers. She muttered a sorry to the deceased and slammed the cemetery gate behind her. 

After her car had sped off, Liam sat back down on the bench again, facing the gate this time. He looked down at his hands. His hands had done so many things. So many, many things. Then, he wondered what else they would have to do before his life was finally over. And he pondered whether or not those things were worth it.

~~

Daine Sarrasri exited the building across the street. She was on her way around the corner for a nice cup of coffee and a deli sandwich. Normally, she wouldn't even noticed the cemetery, but the fact that someone was actually in it that day caught her attention.

It took but one glance for her to gasp and drop her purse. She blinked her eyes rapidly, picked up her purse, and jogged around the corner before the man spotted her.  The Councilwoman continued to jog all the way until she reached the deli and asked the owner to use their COMscreen.

Within moments, she was on the line with an old friend.

"Alanna! You're not going to believe this. I saw Irons!" she exclaimed fearfully into the speaker. 

The Presidential Advisor's mouth dropped open. "Who?"

"Liam Irons! He's _alive_."

~~

Author: Uh oh. Cliffhanger. Again. Well, the episode is done. Liam and Keladry are _'done' _and over before their relationship on screen began to develop (purely intentional. I didn't want anyone to actually feel too sorry for the Liam/Kel pairing. This is a K/J fic!). Joren and Enishi are never done. And Daine and Alanna are freaked. That leaves me a lot to work with. 

And _yes_ for those of you who are wondering, Paddy is dead. Trying to leave the underground racing circuit out of nowhere… after talking with a blond guy, who has everyone feeling edgy… knowing things he shouldn't… you-know-who couldn't afford to let him leave. Guess who got stuck with the dirty deed of running him over with a car. _And_ guess who influenced the driver to finally feel guilt. 

If you were wondering, Paddy's accent was inspired by a friend, Davis, and then imitated for creative purposes by Legato Bluesummers. You know him as the infamous ICBW director. Think of the worse London accent you ever heard, and that's Davis for ya. *sighs*

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the episode, though short it was, it did contain some very important things! Just _one_ more episode before I can post the third episode of The Gift. (takes deep breath) Okay. Here I go…

Tell me what you think! E-mail is listed at the beginning of the story, or you can just review. Feedback is very appreciated!

-Sulia Serafine


	15. Seems Like

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 15: **

**Seems Like**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 2 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

Keladry returned to her humble home, looking no less perturbed than when she left.  She had been doing nothing but deskwork before lunch, so if she called in and told her superiors that she'd finish it tomorrow, it would be an accepted alternative. Keladry obviously needed the day off to compose herself.

_I refuse to be one of those soap opera, weeping emotional wrecks. My first boyfriend dumped me.  It's just another regular experience that happens when you decide to become socially active. It's a stupid consequence._

She made her way up to her hallway, trying to look as normal as possible.  Because Lady Luck's favorite person in the whole world happened to be Faleron King and not her, to her misfortune, her best friend Nealan Queenscove was on his way down the hall as well. He spotted her and jogged over.

"Hey! You wouldn't happen to have any leftovers from lunch, would you?"

"I didn't have lunch. I'm going to have some right now, so if you want, you could come in," she offered.

Neal frowned. He peered at her inquisitively. "Don't you have lunch with Liam during weekdays?"

They walked down the hall and entered her apartment. Keladry pretended as if she hadn't heard his question and started to prepare a microwave meal for her and her guest. He uneasily went around the kitchen, so he could put out the silverware and napkins. When he was done, he cleared his throat.

"Plates?"

"Over there," she told him. While they waited for the microwave to signal its finish, they sat down to silence.

"Kel, is something wrong?"

She gazed at him and forced a smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Neal shook his head. "Don't give me that. I've known you since you were a scrawny pre-teen. Don't think I can't spot it when I see it."

Kel stood up. "Forgot the drinks. I have that health stuff if you want, with the fruit and vegetable concentrate."

He stared at her, trying to discern the weak spot. "No, thanks. I'd rather take vitamins than drink that stuff. Water will be fine." He stood up. "Darn it, stop changing the subject! You can tell me! Come on, Tough Stuff! There is _nothing you need to hide from me."_

He sent his heart out to her, just like he had when he first met her. Jokes and witty comments may have been absent this time, but Keladry could still feel his sincerity. She let out a deep shuddering breath. 

"Liam broke up with me." She paused.  "What's that thing you and Cleon say? No biggie?"

Neal gaped at her. "How can you say that?! Kel, this is a big deal!"

"No, it isn't. We're not dating anymore. End of story."

"I hate it when you do this. Okay, fine. When you're ready to talk I'll be down the hall."

He started for the door. Kel glanced at the microwave. 

"Don't you want lunch?"

He looked back at her and sighed. "There you go, just ignoring the subject again. You only hear what your perfectionist self wants to hear. Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself."

She listened for the door to close behind him. Then she removed the food from the microwave and sat down to eat. It felt eerie being alone that day. She was accustomed to eating with Liam during the week and with her friends during the weekends. To wash away her insecurity, she turned on the Holoscreen and watched the news.

The dead boy that Liam had mentioned in the graveyard was in the news. The DJPF had still not found the hit-and-run driver who recklessly killed him.

"How sad," she murmured, a little more emotionless than she'd intended. Keladry blinked rapidly and concentrated on her food again.

After she finished lunch and set her dishes in the automatic dishwasher, she entered her living room and planned on a whole afternoon of watching news reports. She passed her answering machine, which had a blinking red light in the corner of it. Keladry frowned and pressed the button.

_"Hello, Miss Mindelan? This is Alanna Trebond. I'm calling in regards to recent information given to me by Daine Sarrasri, who said she saw you with a man by the name of Liam Irons. I must warn you—he is not a safe man. I'm begging you to break off contact with him as soon as possible, but in a very peaceful non-threatening way. His employer is an alleged mafia boss and as a First Class DJPF officer, you must distance yourself from him and coordinate with your superiors as to what you will do next."_

Here Alanna paused. Keladry could hear the older woman coughing. _"On a more personal note, I spent five years of my life chasing down Liam Irons, who was a wanted murderer in the Yamanis, before escaping to Mithros. I shot him five miles out from Tusaine. He was dead. I don't know how he managed to survive a fatal wound as the one I inflicted, but I wouldn't consider him fallible to the same type of injury again."_ Her voice became more pleading. _"If it were at all possible for me to do so in the middle-aged body, I would hunt him down as passionately as I did back then. But I have my family to think about. I'm not going to risk my life like I used to. I don't want you to risk it either. I hear you have quite a number of friends, who would miss you. Good bye, Officer Mindelan."_

The message ended. Keladry tapped the button that would erase the message without any hope of retrieval. Then, she listlessly exited her apartment. Her feet automatically took her to the one person she felt she could talk to at that particular bewildering moment.

Joren's door slid open, to reveal that he had already retreated from it to his couch. Keladry walked in and heard the door shut behind her. She forced herself to remain unfeeling while she approached him.

"What the hell do you want now?" he muttered as he stared at the Holoscreen.

Keladry rested her hands on the top of his couch, squeezing the material until her knuckles turned white. Her face, however, was a mask of blankness. It was cold like ice. 

"You were right."

He glanced briefly at her from the corner of his eyes. "I was? About what?"

"About Liam. He works for the Tusaine mafia. I just received a message from the Presidential Advisor herself, who says she killed him when she was an officer," Keladry informed in a droning, dead voice. Her gaze lowered to her hands. She released the couch from her grip and stepped back.

Joren sat up, his hair mussed from the way he had lain. "Killed? The bastard was dead?" A glint appeared in his brilliant blue eyes. "What else did she say about his death?"

Keladry let out a deep breath. "He shouldn't have survived."

Her blond partner turned off the Holoscreen with the remote. "End the relationship now."

"Too late. He dumped me an hour ago."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Keladry rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling, shaking her head. "Oh, I don't know." Despite all her efforts to remain unfeeling, tears were starting to form. "He just did."

Joren turned his head away from her. "So that's what he meant," he whispered. "Mindelan, are you _sure_ he didn't say anything el—" He stopped. "Don't tell me you're going to cry."

"So what if I am? It's normal," she forced out. Keladry was the one to turn her back on him this time.

"Well, go to your own apartment and do it. This is my place," he grated heartlessly. 

Keladry wiped furiously at her eyes with the back of her sleeve and whirled around angrily. "Give me a break, Stone! Every damn time you were weak and started bawling about your sad life, did I stop you from talking and yell at you to go away? No!" She sniffled. "I let you speak your mind and I tried comforting you—even when you used me to get your damn kicks! Why can't you just be here when _I_ need _you_ for a change, huh? All I'm asking is for you to listen to me!"

Joren stood up. He sneered. "Oh, no. Don't even go there," he hissed. "From the very first night you met him at that damn pool hall on your birthday, I _warned_ you not to get involved with him, but you brushed me off." He counted on his fingers. "Time after time, I continued to warn you not to date him—even though I didn't have to. You still _did_. That morning after the winter freaking holiday, you told me you believed me when I said he was working for bad people! You still chose to date him, so it's no skin off my ass if _you_ happen to be crying your fucking eyes out!"

"Shut up, you asshole!" she cried. "After all the times, you asshole—"

"Me?" he yelled back. "Yeah right! When I went to you, it was about something that I had no control over." His voice increased by many decibels.  "I had no control over the fact that my parents died! I had no control over the fact that bastards get away with their crimes against my family! I definitely had no control over the fact that the man I hate most in the world ordered the death of my best friend! And I have no fucking control over the fact that _I'm never going to see my son!_"

When his rant had ended, silence followed. It was like the momentary peace in the eye of a storm as it passed by. Keladry had one hand over her mouth, staring at her blond partner while tears streaked her face. Joren himself seemed shocked at his own words. He stepped back, his shoulders trembling with unspoken pain.

She ran at once from his apartment, trying to muffle her own teary hiccups and cries with the hand still over her mouth. Keladry ran down the hall and back to her apartment, code locking the sliding door to her apartment and the one to her bedroom as she collapsed onto her bed facedown, drowned with sorrow.

Minutes after she had fled, Joren sank back down onto his couch, head cradled in his hands. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Even something as simple as comforting someone he owed turned out to be impossible. All he was capable of doing was thinking of his own pain. Of parents and friends he'd never see again… of a son who might as well be considered dead. He squeezed his eyes shut even more as his sobs wracked his weary body. 

~~

"Seems like this is a dream that never ends," Neal said aloud, though no one else was in his apartment with him. He sighed and rummaged through his food pantry. He came up with peanut butter and crackers.

He rubbed his eyes and sat down with his meager meal. He snorted. "I might as well go leech off someone else who actually does their grocery shopping."

_There I go, talking out loud to myself again. What's wrong with me?_

The officer got up and went over to his new COMscreen, dialing a number he knew by heart. Seconds later, a familiar face greeted him.

"Hey, Dom. Want to go for Yamani?"

"Good idea! I feel like having some spicy noodles. Do you think they'll have enough?" his God-brother asked while grinning.

"They should. Come on, let's go. My treat."

"You're on!"

"_You're_ driving. Meet you in the garage." Neal smiled and ended the transmission. He picked up his jacket and whistled a random tune as he left his apartment.

On his way down the hall, he remembered his earlier argument with his best friend. Overcome with guilt, he stood in front of her door and rang the intercom. When no one answered, he entered the password into the keypad that Keladry told him to use in emergencies. He considered his friend's mental and emotional stability a grave emergency.

The password didn't work. The only reason Neal could think of as to why it didn't was because Kel had purposed locked the code out from within the apartment. He sighed and trudged the rest of the way to the elevator. He would try again later.

After all, that's what friends were for.

~~

"Seems like that woman had a bigger effect on you than you thought," Enishi said while sorting through his computer files. He idly drummed his fingers on the large desk.

Liam didn't respond.

"What do you feel?" the white haired man asked, his eyes boring into Liam like drills.

"I don't know. Mostly nothing," he said aloud. He hoped the answer pleased his master.

Enishi's gaze softened. "You don't have to lie to me. If she actually struck a nerve with you, then I'll let you off on easier tasks until your poor mortal heart has healed."

"_Mortal_ heart. Funny you should say that," Liam murmured. "It's not exactly mortal anymore, thanks to _your_ charity."

Enishi resumed his file sorting. He regarded the screen carefully through his shaded circular spectacles. "Exactly. That's why I keep you around."

"That and I'm the stand-in for blondie," Liam growled bitterly. He kicked at his chair leg with his heel. He kicked it even harder the second time and bit on his knuckle to relieve his tension. 

"Now, now. Don't act like a spoiled brat. You'll like having him for an adopted brother as soon as he comes around. An Anubis like him always does, sooner or later," Enishi smiled.

~~

Author's note: This must be the shortest thing I've ever posted since season 2 began. Wow. Well, what can I say? When I originally planned out this season months ago, the summaries I made for this section of episodes was really… short. I hope you liked it anyway! This is the last thing I'll be able to post for a while, considering school starts on August 7! *screams*

Take care and tell me what you think via email or review! :D

-Sulia Serafine


	16. Bide Your Time

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)****

**Episode 16: **

**Bide Your Time**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 3 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

Another day came and went in the grand city of Tusaine. The sky was clear and the warm sun delighted the citizens with its yellow warmth. The complacent communities of this diverse place bustled about their usual duties and chores. The adults went to work while the children made snow angels in front of their homes.

Somewhere in the midst of all this halcyon serenity, three upstanding officers of the Dominion Jewel Protection Force found themselves bored to tears within their Chief's office.

"Why are we even _here_? It's like all the criminals went into hibernation," Neal remarked. 

"No. If they had, that winter holiday mess wouldn't have occurred," Keladry replied dryly. The other two men nodded in agreement. After the short exchange, they entered a period of dull quiet.

Two minutes later, all three officers yawned simultaneously.

"Wake up! It's time to work!" a voice boomed behind them.

Cleon jumped up from his seat, while his two comrades remained comfortably reclined and nonplussed. The large healthy form of Raoul Malorie shook with laughter as he preceded his good friend, Chief Flyndon Whiteford, into the office. The two men took their seats behind Flyn's desk. Both smiled at the lack of energy displayed by the seated officers.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Cleon gasped as he sat down again. 

Neal snickered and rolled his head back against the back of the chair. "I'll say. You jumped a whole foot in the air."

Keladry stretched her arms beside her. "That doesn't matter now. Tell us what you wanted us here for, Sir."

Flyn cleared his throat. Keladry winced when she realized she had forgotten the 'Sir' rule. It had been a long time since Flyn had finally approved of Keladry enough that he allowed her the privilege. It was usually given to those who pleased him. She liked pleasing her superiors.

"A few more of my officers have been borrowed by other cities and projects. You would have been ordered to go, too, if I hadn't begged the Federation Council to let you stay. This being so, you have two choices as to your next assignments and duties."

All three were fully awake now. They stared at Raoul and Flyn in anticipation of wild thieves and despicable terrorists.

"Yes?" Neal prompted.

"You may either join the Homicide Division or—"

Raoul cut in. "Help bring down a car theft circuit. I'd suggest the latter if you didn't receive high grades in Academy science or take the extra Homicide classes at the Academy."

"What does science have to do with it?"

"Forensics," Flyn clarified.

Cleon winced. "My grades were barely passing. I think we should go for the car theft."

"Good! Now get out of here. I have a chess game to win," Raoul grinned mischievously. He rubbed his large hands together and emitted a low chuckle of confidence.

"Win? What do you mean, 'win'? You're going to lose," Flyn retorted. He glared at the Marshall and reached into his desk drawer.

The three officers stared at their superiors with wide unblinking eyes. Raoul cleared his throat and tapped Flyn's shoulder. The DJPF Chief muttered an "oops" before making his expression severe.

"Dismissed!" Flyn yelled loudly to make a glass on a desk outside the office vibrate on its coaster. Cleon, Neal, and Keladry all bolted up from their seats and filed out of the office as quickly as possible while the two men laughed and set up their holographic chessboard.

They stood outside of their chief's office for a few minutes, gazing back with uncertainty and confusion. Keladry scratched her head. "Well. That was short."

"And unexpected," Neal inserted.

Cleon sighed. "Some day, _I_'m going to be Chief!"

Neal and Keladry attempted to keep straight faces as they stared at their redheaded friend. Neal finally gave in and started guffawing. Keladry hid her smile ashamedly behind her raised hand while Cleon glared at the two of them. He pounded one of his fists into the palm of the other.

"I'm serious! I'm going to be Chief and I'll play chess instead of working, too! It's not fair. He complains about a shortage of officers and doesn't even do the work himself!"

"He's the Chief. That's mostly administrative these days," Kel replied. She had no idea why she was actually defending her boss, but it was all a matter of logic and reasoning to her anyway.

She and Neal walked ahead of him. After kicking the floor in agitation, he resolved to show them some day. Hiding his own smile, he jogged to catch up.

"Flyn doesn't do it all the time. Just every now and then. If I were Chief, I'd do it, too. Now let's forget about that and catch some scum on the counts of," Neal paused and lowered the pitch of his voice, "_Grrrrrand Theft Auto!_"

Keladry narrowed her eyes. "You sound like a sports announcer."

"You know you liked it," he teased and elbowed her in the side.

It hadn't been too long since her break up with Liam Irons, but to Neal, Keladry was improving all the time. During the first few days, she had been very unresponsive and aloof, but after her friends had goaded her into a few fun activities (such as watching football games in Lerant's apartment), she visibly relaxed and allowed herself to show emotion again.

Kel did as Alanna Trebond had suggested. She'd reported her relationship to Flyn and mentioned what the Presidential Advisor had told her about Liam's alleged death. The Chief had stoically taken it into consideration. She never heard anything about the subject after that, though every now and then, she would catch her boss staring pensively at mafia profiles on his computer database.

As they walked down the hall, Cleon grinned. "Guess who I got to talk with for two hours straight last night."

Neal rolled his eyes thoughtfully toward the ceiling. "I want to say the surgeon who performed your transsexual operation, but I see now that would be a joke made in bad taste."

"Ha. Ha." Cleon stuck out his tongue at him. 

"Well, who was it?" Keladry asked politely.

"Kalasin! She actually stayed on the COMscreen with me for _two_ hours talking about whatever came to mind! Isn't that great?" he gushed.

His two companions stared at him. They came to a stop in front of the offices where they would receive further information on their assignments. Keladry leaned closer to Neal and whispered, "I can't remember how many times he's supposed to blink if he's lying. Do you?"

"Haven't the foggiest," was Neal's reply.

Cleon's mouth dropped open. He immediately punched both friends in the shoulder while they playfully punched back. They entered the office and shut the sliding door behind them.

~~

He sat on a sidewalk bench, sipping his cocoa. Lines of men, women, and most importantly, children gathered in front of a kind old hot cocoa and cookie vendor, who had different colored stains on his once clean apron. He did not mind any of them, but focused intently upon the DJPF station across the busy wide street.

The worn red baseball cap covering his dark hair was loaned to him by a friend, as were the denim jacket and dark blue T-shirt on his body. The only items of clothing he had not borrowed to complete his disguised happened to be his jeans and underwear. Even the frayed socks had been given to him.

He adjusted the sunglasses perched on his nose. It served two purposes. One, the sun blinded many of the people outside during this particularly warm and but snow-covered morning. He was particularly surprised the vendor actually meant to stay outside all day. Two, the sunglasses were large enough to cover most of the upper half of his face.

"May I have a napkin?" spoke the young girl beside him on the bench. She was barely seven years old, and ringlets of golden curls peeked out from her wool cap. He lifted one of napkins set on his lap and handed it to her. The girl wrapped the napkin around the remains of her large chocolate chip cookie and placed it in her parka's pocket.

He looked at his watch, and then at the front entrance of the DJPF station again.

"How long do we hafta stay here?" the girl asked in a whisper.

_That would almost be adorable under normal conditions. Almost._ He leaned down toward her ear and whispered. "Just a little bit longer, then I'll return you to your mommy. Promise. Drink your cocoa."

The little golden haired girl nodded in resignation and drank from her own Styrofoam cup. With the distraction satisfied, he returned his piercing gaze back to his original target.

A few minutes later, five men and women exited the station, talking together in courteous tones that signaled their unfamiliarity with each other. One woman in particular with light brown hair and a baby blue and gray uniform caught his eye. She brought up the rear of the group that headed for the garage.

Suddenly, she directed her eyes in his direction. He immediately lowered his head. A microscopic trace of panic caused him to lean toward the little girl and take her empty cup from her. He wiped her mouth from the drink's residue on the corner of her lips. Then with trash in one hand, the man picked up the tiny girl and walked away.

"Keladry! Come on!" Cleon called. He returned to his introductory conversation with a Third Class officer whose name he had already forgotten. 

She blinked. "Sorry."

When the group had disappeared into the multi-leveled garage, the man came back around the corner still holding the child.

"_Now_ can I go?" the girl asked.

He set her down on the corner and looked through a crowd for a woman with graying brown hair and a ragged dress. When he spotted the woman, he pointed her out to the little girl. "Now you can, Sweetie. Run along."

The girl started to skip away, but she stopped. "Thank you for the cocoa, Mr. Li-um!"

Liam smiled at the childish mispronunciation. "You're welcome. Go to your mommy now. Tell her the cooperation is appreciated."

She frowned at the use of large words she couldn't dream of imitating with her own mouth, especially with her lack of schooling. She nodded anyway and continued to dance down the sidewalk toward her mother.

He let out a deep breath blew on his cold bare hands. His gloves were locked in his car, and he hand no cup of cocoa now to warn them.

"What I wouldn't do to be done with the lot of them," he muttered as he glanced discreet at the DJPF station garage. Two cars pulled out. He sneered and walked down the block to find his car so he could follow.

~~

Cleon sneezed. "Can we go inside yet?"

The group of men and women stood outside an abandoned warehouse. Neal growled. "We're working! Come on—deal with it."

"I agree with him, though. I feel like someone is watching me," Kel confessed. She shivered from the nervousness and not from the cold.

While they searched for an entrance, Cleon inched over to her. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"I believe you just did," she smiled wryly.

He laughed. "So, you're right. Well, let me ask."

"Go ahead."

He looked up at her. "Did you and Stone have a fight or something? Last time you passed each other in the hall, you just glared at him and he did the same. The karma was like… _whoa_," he said, trying to chuckle amiably. "So, what happened?"

Keladry frowned. "Nothing happened. Nothing more than normal."

The redhead rubbed his gloved hands over his arms. "And since fighting is normal for you two, that's what happened, right?"

After a few moments, she gave in. "Yeah."

"What was it this time? Did he say yet _another_ misogynistic comment? Did he curse? Did he at all claim that the world as we know it is one tragedy waiting to happen… again?"

When she looked at it like that, Keladry realized that some of the things that sparked her arguments with Joren were actually a bit silly. She allowed herself a slight smile and bumped shoulders with her friend. 

"Something like that. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. It's simply routine now," she sighed.

"Come on! Let's do some actual searching for clues here, people!" Neal commanded in a fake gruff voice. Cleon stuck out his tongue at the other man and resumed his private conversation with Keladry.

She started to pick up her pace as she and Cleon walked the perimeter of the warehouse. He caught up.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"You just did."

He pouted. "You know what I mean."

"I know. Go ahead."

Cleon tucked his hands under his armpits for more warmth. "He's not really your partner anymore. Why fight with him? Why not just snap at him and then ignore him like the rest of us?"

She didn't want to say it.  Luckily for her, the usually hyperactive and goofy redhead understood without her answer. He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

"If I were as good as you, I'd care about everybody, too—even if he's never been grateful for it." He shrugged. "I suppose the jerk needs _someone_ to look out for him. Even if his heart is the same as his name."

"Thanks, Cleon. I see why Kalasin is absolutely wild about you now," she said in a dramatically content voice.

He nodded while wiggling his eyebrows. "Yup," he said in voice that reminded her of a cocky 'player'. "I've got me a honey!"

Keladry rolled her eyes. "Poor Kalasin."

"Don't be a player-hater!" he exclaimed.

"You? Yeah, right. I think you're talking about Neal, the one who actually _gets_ dates," Kel smirked.

"Hey! Did someone call me?" Neal's voice echoed from around the warehouse corner.

~~

_"…ignore him like the rest of us?_

"Yes," Liam murmured, leaning closer toward the mini speaker set up in his car. "Why not?"

_"If I were as good as you, I'd care about everyone, too—"_

He turned off the speaker after that. His hand tightened around the steering wheel. 

"Not everyone. You can't care about everyone because they'll make you choose a side sooner or later," he muttered bitterly. He dialed a number on his car phone. It rang twice before being picked up.

"Hello, Liam. What is it now?" Enishi asked.

"She nor any other significant target is currently investigating the winter holiday incident anymore. It's been passed on to the Feds. May I abandon my position?"

His employer laughed. "If you wanted to leave because you felt angry about having to eavesdrop on her conversations, you could have said so."

Liam didn't answer to that.

"You may leave. I'll see you again at nightfall. You're free to do whatever you want until then."

_What could I possibly do with all my stupid spare time?_ Liam thought.

"You could just do anything. Get lost for a while. It will do you some good," Enishi spoke, as if reading his hit man's mind. The connection was terminated, and Liam hung up the phone.

"Get lost. Yeah, I have no problem with that," he said under his breath. He turned on his hover car and sped away from the abandoned warehouse. The officers inside never noticed he was there.

~~

A few days later, Keladry and her team had finally arrested the group of car thieves who had come together to sell automobile parts on the Black Markets. When she realized the man on the floor was starting to get up, she swiftly struck the back of his head with her energy glaive. The man collapsed again. He was out cold and would mostly like sport a nasty bump on his noggin when he awoke.

"These are beautiful cars. How could someone sell them for scrap? They're gorgeous; they're wonderful!" He ran his fingers across the hood of a cherry red sports convertible. "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful… Beautiful with a capital B!" he intoned.

"Somebody better drag him away from the car before he decides to steal it himself," a female Third Class officer called. The rest of the team laughed at Neal, who blushed bashfully and continued to stroke the fine convertible.

Keladry started to log details in her portable database so she could make the full report as soon as they were back at the station. Her fellow officers continued to cuff those suspects who were conscious and drag those who were not.

Third Class officers were sent to take the cars into custody so they could be identified and returned to their rightful owners. The suspects were photographed and jailed with a large bail posted on every one of them.

When they were done, Keladry dropped by Flyn's office to hand in her report personally. She normally would have sent it through the database network, but Keladry had a few questions for her Chief about future assignments. They were still at an officer shortage, which was not really hurting the city since less crimes occurred in the winter.

_Maybe Neal was right. They _did_ go into hibernation._

She knocked on the door since the secretary normally in front of the office was on a bathroom break. The door slid open for her entrance.

"I have the reports for you," she called as she walked in with the plastic sheets in hand.

"Let me have those," he said and leaned over his desk. He skimmed through them. "Do you have copies of these in the database?"

"I do," Keladry answered.

Flyn nodded. "Good." He placed the plastic sheets in the recycle bin. "I'll look at them later."

She flinched when she saw her work easily ignored. "Is something… wrong?"

The DJPF Chief leaned back in his chair. Forehead was creased with wrinkles, as if he were deep in thought. "Mindelan, I have another assignment for you. This time it's serious." He gestures behind her. "Take a seat."

Keladry did as she was told. She had no idea what he was going to have her do, but it sounded like a matter of life and death. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, trying to work out the stress of anticipation.

"What's the assignment?"

Flyn turned the monitor of his computer around so she could see the screen. "Buri has informed me of a recent software program developed in the depths of the Feds' Central Intelligence. It is designed to translate all languages and decipher all codes."

She assumed the worst. "Security was compromised, wasn't it? Stolen?"

He nodded. "Buri's people are investigating it, and a few other city's are sending their best agents to start tracking it down." He paused. "Since the software was developed in our area, we shall head up the investigations."

"Are there any leads?"

"Yes. I'm debriefing the whole team when they've gathered. So keep your pager's volume on full blast so you don't miss the call."

Keladry nodded. She stood and saluted. One more question sprang to mind. "Flyndon, Sir?"

"What?" 

"What's the software called?"

Flyndon swallowed. He coughed. "If I tell you, you cannot reveal this information to anyone else. National security is at stake."

She nodded wordlessly.

"The codename for the software is the Tkaa Project."

~~

For the rest of the day, Keladry had started to draw connections in her mind to and from all the major criminals in the T1 district and neighboring districts. Most prominent in her mind was the man who practically ruled the city, Enishi Yukishiro, but something didn't feel right about connecting the Tkaa Project to him.

She wondered if it was because Liam still bothered her thoughts. If it was, then she obviously had a long way to go before her thoughts and analyses could be trusted. Keladry rode straight home on her motorcycle. Her mind was so distracted by the new problem at hand that a woman in her car honked at her after the traffic signal had turned green.

"Sorry!" Keladry called over her shoulder. The woman didn't act too furious. After all, Keladry was still in uniform; picking a fight with a DJPF officer was pure foolishness.

Before she reached her apartment complex, Keladry pulled into a mall's parking lot. She got off her bike and sat beneath a row of trees planted to make the city environment more pleasing to the eye. She played with the blades of grass and blew fallen leaves across the street.

Without turning, she spoke. "You can come out, Liam. I know you're there."

Her ex-boyfriend stepped out from behind the tree, dressed in a black suit and gray patterned tie. He placed his hands in his pockets and regarded her calmly. "Hello, Kel. I hope you've been doing well."

"As well as someone in my position can be," she replied just as smoothly. She refused to look at him, but continued to let her fingers caress the grass. "I have one question for you. And if you ever liked me at all, you're going to tell me the truth."

Liam considered the proposition. "All right."

Keladry tilted her face up toward him. "Are you and the rest of you guys at all connected to the incident that happened during winter holiday or the code breaker software?"

"You're not supposed to mention the code break software. Your boss made you promise," he warned, keeping an impassive face.

She shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew what he said. And I wouldn't have asked unless I knew you were already aware of the software's existence."

"You're right about that. We've known for days. It's our territory."

Keladry stood up. She gazed into his eyes. "So? Are you connected to what happened?"

He looked down at the grass. "The criminals, or terrorists if you must be specific, who are responsible for the threat of the winter holiday, the burning of the Academy, and the Tkaa Project are all working together. But no, neither I nor my associates are involved with them."

"I see now. Just like it said in that threat. They are the interlopers trying to take your turf away from you, the old power in Tusaine." A new light was shining down on him. Keladry could feel volumes expanding in her mind as everything started to make sense.

"We may be old, but we are wiser than they'll ever be," he replied. "It is because of the experience and the continuing growth of creativity that we are still thriving. These interlopers, as you say, are viruses. They shall infect and terrorize, but we will cure Tusaine of them on our own time."

Keladry nodded. "I have another question."

"You're pressing your luck, dearest," he said with a note of sarcasm.

She went on anyway. "Did you die? Like Alanna Trebond said?"

He closed his eyes. Keladry saw his eyelids move, as if he was replaying a scene in his mind and he could view it all like he would a dream. Time passed. Liam gazed at her again. His eyes were darker than before. "I did."

"Then how can you be here?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Liam took a step back. "Maybe you ought to ask your partner the same question. I'm not the only one who cheated the Grim Reaper. He got away with it for free. I'm still paying off the debts."

"I don't understand."

Liam glanced around them for witnesses. When he was sure they were completely alone, he stepped closer to her and brushed her lips with a gentle kiss. "All you need to know is that we call ourselves gods…not because we're conceited, but because it lessens the pain of the truth."

Minutes after he left, Keladry touched her lips. "The truth… When will I know the truth?"

~~

Author: 

Okay. So. Sunday: one full episode. Monday: one full episode. Anyone want to guess the chances that I'll be able to spit out another episode tomorrow?! 

All I know is…

SCHOOL STARTS WEDNESDAY AND I MUST NOT STOP WRITING LEST I NEVER GET ANOTHER SPARE MOMENT EVER **AGAIN**!!!

*hyperventilates* Okay. I'm okay. I'm OKAY.

*shudders* Well, please tell me what you think! Review are very welcome and so are emails!

*continues to hyperventilate* I'm not ready to go!!! The more high school, the closer I am to college! The more college, the closer I am to getting a job and paying _taxes_! I don't want to grow up! I'm a Toys R' Us kid! *stops when she realizes she's singing the commercial theme song* WAH! I DON'T WANT TO GROW UP, PERIOD! HHHHEEELLLPPP!

Junior year is inevitably going to suck.

Besides the fact that I can finally drive.

The rest of it is going to suck.

Yours truly (until my hands are cut off so I can't type anymore),

Sulia Serafine


	17. Gone

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)****

**Episode 17: **

**Gone**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** For those of you I left in the dark (so sorry, by the way), I have a new series: The Gift. It's the sequel to ICBW, but I'm running it parallel to its mother series so you, the wonderful reader, can get little tidbits of foreshadowing and the like. It only makes sense after you read episode 9 of season 2, so that's why I waited. For every three episodes of ICBW, an episode of The Gift will come out, so have fun reading! **EPISODE 3 IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

"This is really heavy stuff," Cleon muttered.

"Really? You think so?" Neal snapped sarcastically. He looked at his watch. "Doing all this investigating and interrogating is boring the hell out of me. Want to grab lunch?"

Keladry glared at both her companions. "We are in the middle of an assignment, Neal! One involving national security! How can you think about lunch?"

Neal leaned forward. "Well, let me see. I haven't eaten since 6:30 this morning when you woke me up. It's noon. My poor stomach is making noises, Kel! I understand how serious this all is, but we're not the _only _officers on this case!" He folded his arms. "Sometimes you make me think that it has to be _you _who solves everything. It doesn't have to be, Kel. Pace yourself."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you two go ahead and have lunch. I'm going in to question the next man on the list and dig up history on the two people before them."

Cleon pouted. "Kel, come on. You need to eat."

"I'll eat when I want to!" she cried and stormed off, swinging her arms stiffly at her sides.

Neal touched the redhead's shoulder. "Leave her. She's got some issues to work out."

"She was doing so well for a while. Do you know what happened?"

He nodded. "She just had a little dose of reality. Rejection sounds more like it."

The sharpshooter chuckled. "Rejection? I bet you could give her advice about that—OW!"

"Watch your mouth, clown-boy."

Cleon rubbed his right bicep where Neal had pinched him. The two DJPF officers left the station, planning to meet their favorite poker player during his lunch break. They exchanged painful, irritating pinches during the whole trip.

It was snowing harder than the day before. Snowplows were going all around the city, attempting to clear the streets for safe passage. Those with ground vehicles suffered traffic while those with hover vehicles needed only to use more solar energy _and_ fuel than normal. 

"How come we were issued a hover vehicle?" Cleon groaned.

"Because Flyn knew that every now and then, _you_ would be driving the car. Must have scared him from the option," Neal replied, yawning. They were stuck in a long line of cars, moving only as fast as the snowplow could.

They contacted Faleron and asked him to take a late lunch break so that by the time they reached him, they could still eat together. Cleon even offered an invitation for Roald and Lalasa to join them, but his short civilian friend informed him that the couple was out walking in the riverside area. 

"Okay then. We'll see you in about…" the redhead sighed and stuck his head out the car window so he could see the snowplow. "One hour."

"Close that window! You're letting the cold in, doofus!" Neal yelled.

Cleon withdrew back into the car and put the window up. They slumped into their seats and watched the snow drifting down onto their windshield.

"I miss sunny Tortall," Neal murmured. His eyelids drooped and he felt a yawn beginning to take over his mouth. "Aaahhh," he did so, and flexed his legs to stretch them out. "Winter makes me so tired. Especially in places where it's ten below zero."

His passenger snuggled in the warmth of his many coats. "It's not ten below. If it were, I'd be calling in sick every single day and staying at home with a huge electric blanket."

"Mmm. Electric blanket. Warm fuzziness on a cold winter day."

They smiled at each other.

~~

When they finally arrived at the office building where Faleron worked for Daine, he was organizing his employer's schedule and taking on some duties himself so she was not swamped with work. Roald and Lalasa had still not returned from their leisurely stroll, but it was awkward to have lunch with them anyway. Neal always felt like he was intruding upon a private, intimate conversation whenever he stood with them.

Faleron finished typing and saved the file. He put Daine's electronic organizer beside his computer so that the automatic laser sync would transfer the information. "Hold on, I'll be right with you," he told them, a tad impatient with the organizer. When it was done, he went into his employer's office and handed her the organizer. Faleron exited with a flourish, pushing the sliding wooden doors to each side and smiling like a showman. "Let's eat!"

Single women in the building watched the three young men stroll down the hall. They were often working overtime so they had few opportunities to search for potential husbands. Unfortunately for them, the majority of men working for the Council were married or engaged.

"Good afternoon, Faleron!" a young woman with short black hair called from her cubicle. She winked at him slyly and sat back down.

"Good afternoon!" he called back, out of politeness. 

Neal frowned. "They do know you _have_ a girlfriend, right?"

"And stop them from doing little favors for me—like running to the copy machine or going to the post office? Are you kidding me?" Faleron frowned. "I mean, I never take them up on their offers, but it doesn't hurt to be a little secretive about my personal connections."

The tall green-eyed man whistled. "You have some pretty women here. Think they'd go for a dashing young First Class DJPF officer?"

"No. These women are looking for diamond rings, chap. If you're not interested in commitment, they will throw you to the curb like that." Faleron snapped his fingers.

Cleon cringed. "Doesn't look like your kind of singles' place, Neal."

"No matter. I'll make do with what I can get elsewhere."

Even when they got to the lounge and bought their food, they continued their almost routine chat about the opposite sex. They sat at a circular table so they all had equal shares of space. And as per usual, they switched drinks halfway through the meal so that no man had whatever drink they had started with.

"I do find it terribly uncomfortable when they stare at me while I go by. I feel like a piece of meat," Faleron admitted before putting a forkful of Stir Fry vegetables into his mouth.

A plastic wrapped napkin fell to the floor. Neal bent down to reach for it, all the while talking from below the table. "I wouldn't mind. I pray on a regular basis to be stared at like a piece of meat! It's easier to bait a girl all ready interested instead of trying to get an uninterested girl to notice you."

"I'd be happy, too. I mean—that is if I didn't already have a girlfriend who could kick my ass if I so much as thought of another woman."

"But you think about them every time we have lunch and talk—"

"You know what I mean, Ice Cream Pants!"

He smiled. "Whatever you say, Grasshopper."

Neal rolled his eyes. "You two are so weird."

"Not as weird as you. We asked Kel about how you used to act in the Academy. Sunglasses and sliding down the dorm halls in your underwear and uniform jacket?" Faleron snickered. "You sound like that guy in the movie Risky Business."

Cleon tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Tom something. Aw, who cares?"

"Forget about that. Anything exciting happening in the nation's law enforcement?" 

Both officers looked down at their food trays. Cleon shrugged it off casually. "Not much. There's this stolen software program that's like a skeleton key for everything you ever imagined that speaks a billion different languages, but," he raised and lowered his shoulders again in an over-exaggerated manner, "it's no biggie."

"That _does_ sound important, though."

Neal coughed nervously. "It's supposed to be hush-hush. The Councils would go the Federation head in Tortall and have the entire DJPF drawn and quartered for the failure of the program retrieval."

The ex-thief winced. "That bad, huh?"

The resident sharp shooter made a sound similar to a whining dog. "Can we please pick a friendlier topic of conversation?"

"Women?" Faleron suggested

"Don't we always talk about women?" Neal griped

"Why do we do that?" Cleon asked in genuine wonder while slurping his soda. They continued to talk in due turns for the rest of the lunch break, though the sentences spoken weren't very significant or worth saying at all.

"We're men."

"Should we talk about men instead?"

"Why would we talk about ourselves?"

"Because there's more to men than talking about women!"

"I agree. Though at the moment, my mind is a blank except for that seemingly young lady staring at me from across the lounge."

"I think we've lost him," Cleon observed, waving his hand in front of Neal's face.

Faleron sighed. "Another casualty."

"_Hhelllllloooo_, Miss, would you like a side order of 'helpless-man' with that _fine_ body of yours?"

His two lunch mates stared at him before shaking their heads. They returned to their meals with the known fact that intelligible conversation was impossible among them, even if they honestly attempted to grasp at it with all their wits. The clock chimed the hour and remained the only sound to reach the three men's ears besides the occasional slurping caused by a straw and an exceptionally hungry mouth.

~~

Roald couldn't have asked for a more picturesque winter day. The cold bothered many people trudging through the knee deep snow on the sidewalks, but since he and Lalasa were happily perched on a high rail just above the riverside boardwalks, they didn't have to deal with soaked and cold feet until they jumped off. The chilly weather served perfectly as an excuse to hold his girlfriend close to his side and allow her to nuzzle his scarf-covered neck with her cold nose.

He could catch pneumonia and not mind if she agreed to be his personal nurse—with chicken soup (hand fed) and _all_.

"Let's get out of here. If we don't, the canopies we walked under on our way here are going to give and the snow will drop down on us," Lalasa said. She grasped the rail with her hands and carefully swung one leg over. She successfully put both feet on the concrete and held out her hand to help him.

The Vice President's son followed suit. They resumed their previous stroll along the canopied sidewalks of riverside Tusaine and headed toward their place of occupation once more. Daine would not be too upset that they had stayed out later than usual. She hadn't intended to be driven anywhere and Faleron usually took over some of Lalasa's tasks when she was not there. Lalasa mentally made a note to buy her co-worker a belated winter holiday present.

"I think I'll buy Fal a nice silk tie to thank him for always covering for me," Lalasa said aloud.

"A tie?" Roald frowned. "You give all men a tie. You gave _me_ a tie."

"I didn't give you _only_ a tie," she corrected, staring at him in such a way that made Roald blush.

"Right. I forgot."

"Well, what else then?"

Her boyfriend shrugged as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know. It used to be that you covered for him whenever Fal got dragged out of work to hang out with Cleon and Kel."

"Used to. We Sarrasri employees have been pushed to the stage wings now. Our DJPF friends are having their adventures without us now. We settled; they didn't."

Roald frowned. "I wouldn't say _settled_."

"Why not? We have steady jobs that don't require us to race around to disarm a bomb or risk our lives. We've become mundane and boring! _Bor-ing_," she pronounced each syllable loud and clear so he could not mistake it.

He looked at Lalasa with a worried face. "You're missing that exciting, night club life, aren't you?"

Her stomach twisted itself in a knot due to her guilt. "Sometimes. But I'd rather be here with you. Really, I would. Especially after that stupid fight we had months ago. I'm glad to be settled!"

He blushed. "Can we use another word besides 'settled'?"

"Why? Because it reminds you of marriage?" she taunted.

His whole face was now red and she _knew_ it wasn't from the frosty winds.

Lalasa giggled. She leaned toward him and planted a quick kiss on his nose. He smiled shyly at her like a boy on his first date. He still amazed her with an attitude she could only describe as Roald-ness.

His expression changed. "Isn't that Stone? With a gun in hand?"

He pointed across and down the street where a familiar blond biker dressed in black had just removed his motorcycle helmet and was cocking a gun in broad daylight. 

"Where _are_ we?" Lalasa whispered.

"We must have wandered off our path," Roald murmured, still staring disbelievingly at the DJPF officer. He frowned. "Stone isn't in uniform. Why… the gun…?"

His girlfriend tugged at his arm. "Let's go, Roald. Remember what Kel said that one time? He used to work all the time as a secret operative. That's the technical term for some sort of spy or agent, I think." She growled in frustration. "He could be undercover! I don't care! Let's just get out of here! I've got a bad case of the creeps!"

He looked down at her jittery expression and decided that they'd better depart before anything bad happened. He rubbed her back comfortingly as he led her away in the opposite direction—whether or not it was the right way back to the Council office building.

~~

Keladry sat at her desk, tapping a pen stylus repeatedly against a gray pad that was supposed to be used for electronic signatures. She signed off on more information documents she had assembled concerning the Tkaa Project. Suspect after suspect had been individually crossed off. Currently, she was experimenting with imaginary webs associating different men and women in certain ways.

"Hey, Mindelan. Don't think too hard; your head will explode."

She looked up. "Major Linden. Good afternoon to you as well."

Ulliver leaned against her cubicle wall. "You know I hate it when you call me that. So what's got you stressed? Some lousy scum bucket just asking for his butt to be kicked?"

"No. Actually, all the scum of Tusaine seem to be keeping it quiet right now. Everyone's too frozen to move. Even them."

"Yeah. I'll say. Every five minutes, a snow plow passes my window!" He examined her with partially squinted eyes. "So it's not work-related."

It partially bothered her that he was sticking his nose in her business. Keladry pointed out to her skeptical mind that he had provided wonderful advice to her during the winter holiday security watch. So she decided that he could be trusted again with such matters.

"Not work related."

The SWAT team leader nodded. "Okay." He hummed two notes before looking back down at her. "Trouble in paradise?"

She snorted. "_What_ paradise?"

He pushed off from her cubicle wall and shook his finger. "Oh!  So you broke up with…? Oh!" He realized how loud he was and cleared his throat. In a milder voice, he said, "I'm sorry to hear that. Is that what's been bugging you?"

Keladry cringed. "No. Not entirely. It's part of it, but the other half is a bigger problem."

Ulliver knew right away that his temporary hope would once again stay unsatisfied. He nodded slowly and scratched his chin. "If this is about that blond 'wrestling' partner of yours, then I guess the only thing I have to say is fight for him. Don't fight _him_, but don't give up, either. Shove your way into his life." He looked over his shoulder, expecting the officer in question to show up at any given moment. "I don't know him that well, but I can tell he's stubborn. So you're just going to have to tough it out."

She felt the corner of her lips instinctively tugging upward in a smile. "Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. Thanks, Ulliver."

He sighed in resignation. "Yeah. You're welcome. See you around."

The rest of the day went a lot smoother and cheerier for Keladry than usual. But somewhere in the Special Weapons And Tactics Department, a certain major was cursing the gods for his habit of bad timing.

~~

Author: I did it! Another episode in one day! Okay… That's… _four_ more episodes until the end of the season! And school… *sighs* starts tomorrow. *starts to cry softly*

Please tell me what you think, whether by review or email. In this depressing time, I'm going to need all the cheering up I can get…

-Sulia Serafine


	18. Shades of Gray

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)****

**Episode 18: **

**Shades of Gray**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)!  **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**NEW!** **EPISODE 4 OF THE GIFT IS NOW POSTED!**

I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

His mind was never clearer than when he was angry, especially to the point of murder. The world was made of crystal glass, and he could see straight through it. It was clarity that let him shamelessly justify his actions.  It was the _clarity_ that ultimately tricked him into coming here.

Just as a wounded animal stops thrashing and knows it is about to die, did Joren march forward. He wanted to throw himself and be swallowed whole by the beasts that pursued him. Perhaps then he could be borne away from the world, the shining crystal glass with it's many reflecting facets… creating the illusion the wise men called life.

_I did not choose. I was chosen._

It was a thought revisited from Day 1. 

_No use in questioning it now. Just walk in and take your seat in that_ electrifying _chair._

He did not even pause by the main desk at the lobby when he entered. The man sitting there made no move to stop him. Of course he wouldn't. Though Joren had planned to surprise his former 'employer', he knew that it was impossible. The man knew everything, just as it was claimed. Joren's visit was expected by all the in the building. 

The path before him was clear. They yielded to him and watched with intense gazes as he strode past. Everyone knew what was about to happen. And the solemnity in their faces was magnified tenfold as if the end of the world had come. Young foolish hands fumbled for their own holsters, but in the end, they allowed the fallen angel to pass them by. 

"Please tell him I'm here," he asked the secretary in the waiting room. She spoke nothing into the intercom and merely pressed a button, which allowed the dark oak doors to slide open.

Then, there was a certain moment. The one where the heart thuds and the throat becomes dry, when a man suddenly finds himself short of breath and overcome by anxiety. Joren put all these sensations aside. He refused to be intimidated.

"Have we another assassination attempt?" 

The white-haired man murmured the words almost immediately. Joren looked upon Enishi's youthful features with contempt. He took two steps swiftly forward while the doors behind him shut. As soon as they were alone, Joren raised his gun and pointed it at the mafia boss's head.

"I suppose it is so," Enishi said and arose. He walked out from behind his desk and came within arm's length of his visitor. The gun now pointed at his lower left ribs, where vital organs were most likely to be obliterated. Despite this, no fear or anxiety made itself known within the man. Only patience had a throne in this place.

Joren found the old, familiar doubt resurfacing. He mentally screamed at it to leave him, but it persisted until he spoke. "Aren't you going to do anything?"

"Why should I? You're capable of making your own decisions. Whatever you choose, I'm sure you'll be the better man for it." 

A beguiling smile radiated from the older man's face, which brought searing pain to Joren's chest. The blond biker gasped slightly, overcome with an unidentifiable ache. His finger tightened on the trigger, the barrel of the gun inching closer to its target's abdomen.

"Do what you must. Don't let guilt stop you before the crime is even committed. And know _why_ you choose this. Justification is a thing for fools, Joren. You know that better than I."

"Shut up!" Joren yelled. He raised his hand a little higher, his arm trembling where it was poised. "Just shut up for once. If it's my choice, I'm not going to foul it up by listening to _you._"

"It's a bit too late for that."

Somewhere outside, a new drift of snow was falling down in tiny little flurries across the city. Children in the schoolyard, braving the cold elements, stuck out their tongues and happily received their airborne nourishment, while others shivered beside their heaters and their furnaces. It was a quiet day, meant for cold stumbling about and watching the snow flurries float down like frozen down feathers. 

A sharp piercing sound disrupted the tranquility of the moment. The shot reverberated from its origin, echoing off the walls of glass and brick. A person or two looked up from their task, frowning to themselves as to what the reason for the disruption might be. And after the sound had faded away into nothing, the memory of it was very readily banished from their minds. They returned to their winter work.

~~

Keladry paged Neal, informing him that she was going to run an errand and for him and Cleon to return to the investigation as soon as they were finished with lunch. Neal paged her back and asked what errand could possibly pull away her usually unshakable focus. She hadn't replied. 

How could she expect them to understand why? She almost didn't understand it herself, but the feeling was there to stay. Just as Ulliver suggested, she was going to fight for him. Whether or not she would admit it, Keladry cared about her partner… more than should have been necessary… so much that it hurt. Yes, it hurt.

If Liam knew, he would say that Joren didn't deserve it. Joren didn't deserve _her_. But Liam was no longer in a position to tell Keladry what was good for her. It had been wonderful while it had lasted, but it was time to put away such fantasies and to pick up the burdens of reality. That Liam was her first boyfriend was no great milestone. The first person who ever kissed her was still Joren. The first to make her cry was still Joren. The first to make her aware of her faults and to want to be better was still that implacable man in the black jacket. 

If it had been a perfect world, Keladry would have told him and he would have enthusiastically told her the same thing in return—that she meant the world to him and that she was the inspiration for his need to be human again. She despised wanting him. But she worshipped the idea of him finally needing _her_. 

Keladry had traversed all of the DJPF station, asking of the whereabouts of Joren Stone. No one had seen him at all that day. He never came in, and if he did, he went straight to Buri and Flyndon. Since both superiors were busy, she had no choice but to keep searching without a clue.

Paging him was a wasted effort. He never answered. She tried three times and gave up. It was unfortunate that he didn't have anything on him that was traceable. She would have gladly liked to perform a search for the silver disks attached to his field uniform. There was no concrete way of knowing whether or not he was even wearing that uniform without raiding his apartment and peeking into his closet. Keladry relied on her lucky intuition for her information.

_A lot of good has that done me over the last year. It's been about nine months since I first met him and…_ She frowned deeply. _I'm…_

Her gaze fell to the floor. She put aside the horrid feeling and lifted her head. Keladry took a deep breath and rubbed her arms reflexively though the cold did not bother her. She had braved the worst ice storms in the world. And not all of them came down from the sky.

_I had no real idea of what to expect,_ she reflected. _Even with Owen and Neal's warnings._ It was like a dream from years ago rather than months in the past. Could it have been less than a year? It felt like another lifetime. 

~~

_Owen nodded. "Let me continue, Neal. So, Joren is a bit…"_

_"Stoic," Neal supplied._

_"And overly professional."_

_"Stubborn."_

_"Non-social."_

_"Inconsiderate."_

_"Has a big problem with authority."_

_"Somewhat ruthless…"_

_"And well…"_

_"He's a jerk," they said in unison._

~~

Despite the well-drawn description of his personality, Keladry believed it still didn't delve past the surface of what really was Joren's soul. The volumes of his heart were secret and had not seen the light of day for many years. She also theorized that these same volumes were meant to be read, as all written things are, only… only Joren didn't know it. 

"I'm not giving up on you," she whispered satisfactorily to herself.

~~

_He stared at her for about ten seconds. Then, he began to look her up and down. Sizing her up. "Who the hell are you?"_

_She became slightly peeved. "I'm Lania Oakbridge, daughter to Councilman Upton Oakbridge? I'm a third class officer here."_

_He nodded slowly. "Right…" Then he stopped and brushed passed her. "Don't waste my time."_

_Another girl tried her luck as she met him at the information desk. He let out a frustrated sigh and waited for her to speak. This one had black hair tied back in a ponytail. She seemed a little better than the first. "Hi there! You're new here, aren't you? Can I show you around?"_

_Once again, he gave her a once over and spoke after five seconds. "Are you Keladry Mindelan?"_

_"Hell no!" she laughed bubbly. _

_"Then, goodbye," he turned on his heel and walked away. The girl was furious and screamed at him. He paid no mind and continued to move away until he came near Keladry. She rolled her eyes and supposed that she might as well talk to him. _

_"Hey!" she called over to him. When he didn't approach her, she pushed off the crates she was leaning on and came to him. Before Keladry could talk, he spoke with evident irritation._

_"If you're going to hit on me, save yourself the trouble and walk away. I don't care for flirtatious girls, who don't know a damned thing about hard work," he spat. His voice was sharper than the finest chef's knife. Keladry folded her arms._

_"No," Keladry replied, although annoyed by the hostility of his response. "I'm Keladry Mindelan. And you're obviously--"_

_"Joren Stone," he finished for her with a slight nod. "Thank Heaven, you actually look like you know what you're doing."_

~~

The memory of their first meeting amused her now. How clueless she had been of the incidents that were to follow that first priceless moment in time. All the conditions had been perfect. A new partner, a grand mission, and an overwhelming urge to succeed. That had been the peak of her life, like her personal sun had reached its zenith and had stayed up there for days. 

Afterwards… Well, who wanted to think of afterwards? She didn't want to. The in-between from then and now had been hell. She knew that most of what happened between them had formed the reason why she cared for him so much at the present, but she still resented that it had all happened. Keladry wished to dwell on the wonderful first memories. They had been such a great precursor of what was to come. 

She recalled the first time they went to Commissioner Wyldon together. After they had been dismissed, she had pleaded with him to at least try to care. And he had so arrogantly responded that the only things he could care about were his bike and himself—more importantly, the bike. 

A sly smile crept onto Keladry's face. It had been disconcerting then, but how she wished he would say it again to her now. He was less burdened then. He was more at peace with the lot that Heaven had given him. 

_So what does that tell me about him now? That he wants to shoot himself because it hurts so badly? _Her inner hope was nearly dashed to pieces, but she willed herself to remain strong. For him. 

Two hours passed by. She discovered that she cared very little for the Tkaa Project, which she had been assigned to look for. Dozens of officers were working on it, she reasoned. They did not need a perfectionist like her who only bumbled around, like her partner claimed. No, her attention was demanded by something else. Someone else. 

It was at his apartment door that she finally stopped to rest. Fully aware that he was not at home, she still leaned up against his door, pressing her forehead to the cool surface. Would it be too sentimental to say that she suddenly smelled his scent there? Keladry had never been that mushy or romantic, but it felt so right.

"I love you, Joren Stone," she said to the empty air around her. 

And that had felt so right as well.

~~

His hand trembled. The gun clattered to the floor. Joren stepped back, though a long time had passed and he knew that Enishi would not collapse. The white-haired man stood like an unmovable rock, despite the bullet that had just pierced his body. Even then, Joren stared at the smoking bullet hole in the other man's side. 

"How can you…" he croaked hoarsely. "This is impossible!"

Enishi looked down at himself. "Impossible for you, perhaps, but not for me."

He stepped forward, almost nose to nose with a person whom he had once considered his brightest star in the sky. Joren's expression suddenly became calm.

"I see. A bullet proof vest."

"Oh?" Enishi chuckled. He took the blonde's hand and guided it under the suit jacket, to press against the spot where the bullet had struck. When Joren withdrew his arm, he discovered his fingertips dripping with warm, bright red blood. 

Immediately, he stumbled backwards, shaking his head in disbelief. He pointed wildly at Enishi with the bloodied hand. "No! That isn't fucking possible! How can you just _stand_ there like nothing has happened?"

Enishi sighed. "The time is not yet ripe after all. I had been hoping…"

He calmly walked behind his desk and pressed the intercom. He muttered something that Joren could not hear—did not _want_ to hear. His nerves were frazzled. Joren was using all his self-control not to sink to the floor in shock. 

He had wanted to strike out at the man before him for so many years. After the grievances he'd endured because of Enishi Yukishiro, he wanted revenge. Joren wanted divine retribution from someone who claimed to be a divinity himself. Now he had done his long-awaited task. 

The result had been the stuff of fairy tale. For here Enishi stood, as if only a tiny pebble had been launched at him. What did that make him? A god? A demon? 

_An angel?_ Joren wondered, remembering how halo like the waves of white hair about Enishi's head had always seemed. He averted his eyes.

The doors slid open. Joren could hear footsteps, but he had no courage to look up with. When a pair of feet stopped in front of him, he slowly allowed his eyes to travel upwards to find a matching face. What he saw incited new vigor within him.

"You!"

Liam smirked. "Yes. Me."

Enishi gestured toward the exit. "Please make sure that he arrives home safely, Liam. I suppose today is not our lucky day."

"So he won't be joining us?" his aide questioned, though he locked his steely gaze on Joren. 

"Not today," Joren said with venom in his voice. He glanced back once at Enishi, the mountain that would not fall, and left the room. Liam also looked back at his employer, though the expression on his face was not of the displeasure that Joren possessed, but something deeper… like the green-eyed monster, Jealousy. 

"You'd better catch up with him," Enishi reminded.

"He's not always going to be ahead of _me_, Sir," Liam declared heatedly. "Not in Keladry's heart, and certainly not in yours."

His employer sneered and roared back with a voice that reverberated in the air. "_You are not going to hear me say which of you is my favorite son_! Get out of my sight at this moment or else never be in my sight ever again!"

Liam bowed curtly. "Whatever you say, _Sir_."

The indolent young man left the room in pursuit of his rival, while Enishi remained by his window, seething with an anger so great, the world had never known its like. Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes… The energy emitted by all of these things had no power compared to him. He laid his hand on the back of his chair, flexing his fingers until a part of the chair had broken off into his hand, burned, and fell to the floor as ash.

~~

When Joren reached his hallway, he spotted his partner, sitting and leaning against his own door. She stood when she saw him, a joyous expression on her face, like he had risen back from the dead to come to her. He set his jaw rigidly and strode toward her in even, measured steps.

"Mindelan, what do you want?"

She balled up her fists at her side. "I was worried about you."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's so different about today that you wait for me at my door?"

"Because I finally admitted it," she whispered. Her features softened, and she reached a hand toward him, brushing away a lock of blond silk that had fallen across his brow.

He took a step back. "Admitted what?" He resolutely stared past her at the wall. "That I'm a lost cause? That there's nothing left but for me to go commit suicide, like normal depression victims do?"

He would have gotten the same effect if he'd slapped her. Keladry put her injury aside and came forward. She had never voluntary shown such affection, and here he took it for granted. She forced all of it away and embraced him with all the strength she had in her heart to give. 

"Don't push me away, Joren," she begged. Keladry closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck. "You have nothing to lose."

Secretly, she had been preparing herself for the shove that would throw her to the wall. Miraculously, none came. After a few seconds, she loosed her hold and looked at him. Joren's forlorn eyes were focused on her.

"The blue… It's faded from your eyes. It's like… shades of gray," she murmured.

"You're right about what you said," he told her in a way that felt like they were sharing a dear secret that no one else could ever know.

"I am?"

His lips formed a bittersweet smile. "I have nothing to lose because there is nothing in me to be lost." He leaned forward to further concrete the confidentiality of their secret. "It's already empty inside."

Keladry hesitantly brushed his cheek with her fingertips. She laughed nervously with tears in her eyes when he reached up and held her hand there. Her heart was beating a million times a minute, and her stomach was fluttery, like butterflies had taken flight there. 

Joren could not help but laugh a little, too. The moisture in his eyes almost restored the color in his irises, but Keladry saw that it was still a little dark. She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Well then," she whispered. "If you're empty, then we'll just have to fill you up with all new things. Better things. A chance to start over."

"Can it be done?" he frowned.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?"

He nodded. And though neither of them could explain it… that felt right, too.

~~

Author: Ta da! Major episode released! Let it be known that I'm probably going to fail English because I decided to do this instead of my paper. (Oh, man… I can't even remember the due date…. I am so screwed!)

Well, it's three more episodes left until the end of the season! Let's see if I can get them out before Halloween, eh?

Review or e-mail! I need your feedback! Thanks for reading!


	19. Breaking

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 19: **

**Breaking**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

Neal stressfully ground his teeth while he went through the access records of the facility that had once created and housed the Tkaa Project. Everyone's alibi matched. There was nothing in the security system to indicate an infiltration. Neither had any of the guards noticed anything suspicious that night. 

"Talk about your super sleuth mysteries… I hope they put lots of other smart people on this. My head is about to split into halves here," he mumbled. He glided across the room backwards on his office chair, slowing down and lightly bumping into the back of Cleon's chair. 

The redhead sneezed.

"Getting sick?"

"I hope not," Cleon replied. He scratched his nose. "Dude, this doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me about it. I can't find squat about anything here!" Neal exclaimed.

His partner turned around and began tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, what's with the Council of Tusaine dropping by so much? I thought they weren't interested in what the Feds did."

"They shouldn't be. The Science and Technology Department claims to have created a program capable of things that should be near impossible. _Nothing_ can decipher all codes in existence. I bet you that they just embellished and the only thing the program is good for is hacking into school databases to change grades." He paused. "I wish that had been around while we were in the Academy…"

Cleon shook his head. "That still doesn't explain why the log has random Council Members dropping by the Fed building. It says here that they access all different parts of the building, but… I don't know. It doesn't feel right."

"They have a reason to be there. They're the legislative ones. After that whole Immortals mess, I'd be suspicious toward 'hush-hush' science projects, too." He held up one finger. "Don't forget, the Council funds that department. I'd be worried about my investment, too, if I were them." He sneezed. 

"Whoa, are _you_ getting sick?"

Neal glared at him. "If I do, I'm going to blame it on you. I've barely been off the disabled list! I don't need to be sick right now!"

The redhead chuckled. "It's the cold weather, man. We're Tortallians. We're too used to warmth in the winter. This place up north… it's…"

"Aggravating," Neal finished. He turned, and pushed off from the back of Cleon's chair with both feet —causing the redhead to brace himself against the desk. 

"Hey!"

"I'm going to buy some chicken soup in one of those Styrofoam cups from downstairs. Want some?"

His companion's fingers darted dexterously over the keyboard. He focused on the screen. "No, I'm cool. I think I'm going to make some calls to the Council. You know, play the detective and private investigator like Dick Tracy."

Neal stood up and rolled his eyes. There was a certain element of mirth absent from his friend's features. He didn't wish to be biased, but after seeing Cleon act like a clown so many times, he found it hard to believe the sharpshooter was serious. Neal was tempted to demand his real identity. Surely, the man seated there was an imposter.

He settled for an agreeable nod of the head and started for the door. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, _Dick_."

Cleon didn't notice him leave. He concentrated on his task at hand, gnawing on his lower lip.

~~

After all had been said aloud, silence overwhelmed them. It seemed that the reality of their revelations had suddenly dawned on them. Though the anger and hopelessness had taken a back seat, it did not mean there was to be love and peace for all. They entered his apartment and sat down, neither quite sure what to say. 

"You want a glass of water or something?" he asked with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Yes, thanks," she replied, like she would to any host or hostess. It was so odd to her that everything was out in the open and nothing had really occurred afterwards. As she watched him fill up the glass, Keladry noticed how tired his movements were. 

_Is he really going to start over? Or did he just say that to shut me up? _She averted her eyes and berated herself for doubting. But the feeling came naturally. The way he carried himself wasn't as proud and fearless as when she first met him.

"So," he began when he sat down and handed her the drink. "How are… things?"

She felt better now that he was making an effort. Although, now that he did act the way she wanted him to, Keladry surprisingly started to miss the difficult, unmanageable young man that he once was. This new Joren bothered her. And she didn't know why.

"A selection of officers have been appointed to deal with stolen software from the Federal computer programmers," she mentioned, knowing ironically that she should have been working on that investigation instead of being there with him. Keladry sipped her water and directed her gaze to the floor so that she would not give her thoughts away.

"Federal? So no one from Tortall is flying in to stomp over jurisdiction?" he asked almost bitterly. When she heard the inflection of his voice, Keladry almost became relieved at the thought of hearing his sardonic, cynical opinions again. 

He frowned. "What's with you?"

She shook her head. "Uh, nothing. What have you been up to?"

"The usual. Pulling the trigger on infamous mafia leader and whatnot." Joren shrugged, brushing back his pale blonde bangs from his eyes. He gazed coolly at the tops of his knees, counting each microscopic piece of lint he could discern with his naturally sharp eyesight.

_There's the asshole I know,_ she thought in morbid satisfaction, sipping her water again. She smirked. "Now, really. Be serious. What have you been doing? Riding around the city, feeling sorry for yourself?"

Joren blinked. "I am being serious. I did shoot him—he didn't die, unfortunately. As for riding around the city wallowing in my misery, I wasn't alone." The corner of his lip curled into a half-snarl. "Your ex-boyfriend was ordered to follow me home and make sure I stayed here." He faced her. "Did you ask him? If he knew anything about the case you're on?"

Her mind was once again a whirlpool of confused thoughts. Keladry's mouth hung open, slightly in disbelief. She briefly wondered if it would be inappropriate to laugh at the supposed truths he had just presented her. But then again… Joren never lied to her.

"You're… serious," she whispered slowly.

"Very," he answered, still possessing an expression of contempt for the latest significant other to depart Keladry's life. The blond biker got up and walked to the closet. "I'm sure Liam is gone by now, so I think I'll go pay Flyn a visit. Just to tell him I'll be starting on the case." He paused. "I have to submit the request."

"Which isn't really a request at all," Keladry finished softly. "He'll put you down on the assignment because you won't take 'no' for an answer." She stood and approached him. Hesitantly, one hand reached out and touched his shoulder. "Stone—" she stopped short. "Joren, we need to talk more."

He selected his jacket and shut the closet once again. "We've talked, though. What else is there to talk about?"

"Plenty!" she exclaimed. "Besides, I'd like to think that you and I might talk about anything. Right?"

Silence was her answer as he turned to her, wordlessly shrugged on his jacket, and went past. Keladry couldn't believe her eyes. Weren't they supposed to be more open with each other now? What about their hopes and dreams? She angrily spun around and followed him. Her fingers curled around his arm just as he reached the door. 

He didn't turn to look at her.

"Joren. Joren? Please. Stay a little longer. There's everything in the world to stay for and talk about," she urged. Keladry loosened her grip when she realized that she might be hurting him. His hand fell by his side and his gaze was still on the floor, but at least he had remained instead of fled. Fearing the worst, his partner placed her fingertips under his chin and lifted his face up so he was forced to see her. 

He stared with his eyes, blue in the light and gray in every other direction. His mouth was fixed in a frown and his brow creased to show that his thoughts were grave and melancholy. 

"I need some time," he muttered, lowering his eyes back to the ground and jerking his head away from her touch. 

Keladry, pride hurt, stepped back and attempted to appear unfazed by his reaction to her gentle approach. She nodded, fists clenched by her side. It was time to hop off the cloud and resume the old and familiar stance. Her mask went on as easily as ever. And so she stood, calm emotionless face… carefully indifferent to any subject that might give her cause to scream and cry and express all these horrible emotions in a tantrum.

Guilt wormed into the fray. Joren closed his eyes, turned to her, and opened them again. "It's hard… It's… you know what I mean. I need… time."

"Don't we all," she replied. _I was so sure this time that you would… that you would…_

He turned to the door and departed from his apartment, leaving her standing there like so many times before. 

~~

"You're crazy."

"_You _are in denial."

"You're damn right I'm in denial. I could lose my job!"

Cleon rolled his eyes. "Details, details. Are you going to help me or not?" He faked moistening eyes. "I'd understand if you don't want to. I mean, what does 'best friend' mean anyway? They're just words and we're just dudes—"

"Don't you dare guilt-trip me to break into the Science and Technology department using my employer's security code," Faleron hissed, glaring. 

Cleon rested both hands on each side of the Communications screen and offered his best sincere smile. "I would _never_ ask you to do _that_. I'm just asking… for you to get me access through the Council, since they have the executive authority and I don't."

The former thief snorted and glanced around him. "You think it's an inside job, then. Someone in the Council is abusing their power to break into the Feds' little breakfast nook out here in Tusaine and steal their computer games? Some… some _interloper_ is screwing with things and will probably sell the software to a hostile foreign power or rebel faction?"

The redhead twiddled his thumbs. He wouldn't have put it into so many descriptive words, but when Faleron didn't want to be talked into something, he tended to use double speak. "Maybe."

"Why didn't you tell this to Flyndon?"

"Are you kidding me? Suspecting the Council? Flyndon would take me off the case on the spot, dude!"

Faleron weighed several options in his mind and immediately produced a response. "We have a case, though. If you've got the evidence, you can convince him to start an investigation. The Immortals Affair is a perfect excuse to suspect stuffy government protocol."

"Hey! What are you two talking about?" Neal asked as he re-entered the room with his steaming cup of soup. He lifted up a spoon to his mouth and began sipping the hot liquid. 

"Nothing much," Cleon shrugged. "Just stuff."

"Suspecting the Federal Council," Faleron truthfully told him, shooting his best friend a dirty look. "The media would be over it within seconds. I don't know who leaks information to them, but they always know." He folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think it's a great idea, but you've got your leads…"

Neal continued sipping his soup slowly to avoid burning his tongue. He swallowed. "Personally, I think it's crazy, but he's right. If you've got some evidence that looks weird, maybe we should check it out."

"So does that mean you'll help me do my investigation? You'd only use Ms. Sarrasri's security code for a second or two. Come on! What do ya say?" Cleon clasped his hands together pleadingly. 

His friend remained unmoved. "No. Don't think so."

"Please? Dude! Buddy! Amigo! You just have to! Flyndon will never let me do my own investigation!" 

He personally blamed Commissioner Wyldon for this. The Tortallan transfer officers rarely heard from Wyldon any more, but they knew he kept in touch with his Tusaine counterpart (making sure they weren't driving Flyn crazy). Wyldon always spoke his mind about his former officers, and Flyndon would be a fool not to listen to him. Cleon imagined himself bending golf clubs over his knee and hurling them down at the commissioner's feet. But picturing that would not help him get any closer to the possibility of a private investigation into the inner circle of the Council.

Faleron caved in to his pleadings, though more gracefully and peacefully than Cleon or Neal would have expected. He brushed invisible lint off his shoulder and cleared his throat. In a very decisive, commanding voice, he said, "Pick me up in one hour—no sooner and no later. Don't wear your uniform and be prepared to support my comfortable lifestyle should I suddenly find myself unemployed. I'll be expecting tonight's succulent, four-course dinner at your expense. And I'd also like to borrow your new Holoscreen for two weeks. Mine is being repaired. Have I made myself clear?"

"…"

"The man drives a hard bargain," Neal commented.

Cleon glared at him. "Shut up, you."

"It's not like you can't afford his proposal. Our salaries are quite—"

"I said, shut your face."

Neal answered by loudly slurping his soup.

~~

The swirls of ceiling plaster were actually quite fascinating if stared at for a lengthy amount of time. Keladry had been aware of this for a number of years. Often, in her life had she laid down on either floor or bed, just to step back and look at everything in retrospect. And while pondering her next scheme to rise through the ranks, the overachiever would frequently become absorbed in the patterns in the ceiling plaster.

"Maybe I ought to get a skylight. I could stare at the clouds instead of the plaster," she muttered to herself, her fingertips rubbing at her ear lobe just because the ends of her hair tickled it.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Five billion problems in the world and she was deciding to ignore them so she could lie there on her apartment floor.

_This isn't like me,_ she thought. Keladry mentally rolled her eyes. _Has anything lately been like me? I should go to the station right now and submerge myself in paperwork. No, better yet, I could crack open the stupid case and just get back the stupid Tkaa-thing. Whatever it is! I don't care what it's called, as long as I get it back and get considered for promotion!_

Keladry sat up. It came to her that her that the particular train of thought she just had was selfish and uncompassionate. 

"Was it really?" she asked aloud. Knowing that to be the truth of things, her whole disposition because inwardly upset and distraught at the idea of becoming an emotional vacuum. Once, long ago, a little girl had wanted to help people and become as good and kind as her hero, Alanna Olau Trebond. 

And somewhere along the way, that little girl grew into an unfeminine, antisocial workaholic. All at once, she wished that she had never even heard of Alanna or that she'd never declined that mission to track down Ozorne (with a new partner whom she had never met). So many regrets… but it would take more than brute strength and iron will to turn back the hands of time and flip the heavy hourglass. 

Her pager beeped. Keladry lifted up her wrist, lazily, squinting at the tiny screen.

_"Stick head out window."_

One eyebrow rose suspiciously. But she stood up anyway and did as the anonymous message bid her. She effortlessly slid open her only latched window and leaned out. Whatever it was, it had to be good. A person should never interrupt another person in the middle of serious contemplation.

_Okay, not that serious, but it is for me,_ she thought grumpily. Keladry looked around until she spied a familiar black and red motorcycle ride into the parking lot and come to a halt under her window. The figure on the bike removed his helmet and looked up.

"I thought you went to the station," she called down, propping up her chin on her palm. 

"I didn't bother. Just paged him and told him how things were going to be. He didn't have a choice." Joren shrugged. "I heard Red is doing something that he shouldn't; he's roped Thief Boy into it, too. You want to go and chew them out, Mindelan?"

"Mindelan?" she echoed, incredulously. It felt as if muscles surrounding her heart were constricting, squeezing it until she couldn't bear it. "What happened to 'Kel'?"

He didn't respond. 

"Joren?" Keladry called down. She was tempted to bitterly call "Stone" but that wouldn't have helped things either.

The blond young man examined his gloves and appeared as if he was considering something. He raised his face toward her again and displayed a partially remorseful expression. "I screwed up. I'm always going to screw up and I'm not always going to have the sense to say sorry. You know that." He held his arms out. "What you see is what you get unfortunately… Kel."

Rather taken aback by his self-condemnation, Keladry's heart sank. She detested seeing someone not willing to forgive himself. But she hated this even more, for the mere fact that it was Joren below her, with clouds of grief hanging over his head. Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned out even more and whistled to him to catch his attention again. 

"So are we going to stop Cleon and Fal from their hopeless scheme or what?"

"I forgot to keep up the maintenance on your bike," he told her. "I meant to do it yesterday—"

"There's room on the back of that thing for two, isn't there?" she called down, surprised to hear coyness in her own voice.

He also noticed and smirked. "That is if your ass hasn't gotten any fatter, Mindelan."

"Watch it or I'll break your nose, Stone," she replied. Keladry resisted the urge to laugh. They were tossing insults at each other like they used to, but this time, it wasn't meant in malice. It felt nice to do so—even if, to the average observer, it seemed pathetic way to express affection.

"Break my nose? So, what, does that mean we get to wrestle in the garage again? I wouldn't mind. I'll get that Bomb Squad Nerd to come down and watch. Just to throw it in his face." The threat was meaningless, but it caused Keladry to cast him a dirty look and shake her head.

"I thought you were going to try and start over! Turn over a new leaf!"

Joren forced a smile. "I said it would take time. I'm always going to be an asshole. You know that. Trying to act any other way isn't _me_."

"And for some stupid reason, I'm happier when you act like an asshole," she groused. Keladry made a mental note to get a psychiatrist for that certain problem. She zoned out for so long on the particular subject that Joren was forced to get her attention again.

"Just get down here!" he yelled, his voice as gruff and impatient as ever.

"What did you say? Take my time?"

"Mindelan! Be a good girl and get down here or _else_ I'm going to come up there and throw you over my shoulder caveman style. You got it?"

She snorted. "As if you don't _want_ to."

He shifted around on his motorcycle seat that he straddled. His voice became husky. "We'll talk about _that_ matter in _private_, Mindelan."

Keladry blushed and left her window to meet him.

~~

Author's note:

I think I'm losing my touch. Oy. 

Well, I'm sorry this took so long! I'm at my wit's end, here. School is kicking my ass, daily. The only thing I have that's not stress causing is the new boyfriend-creature in my life. I'm still speculating whether or not this is one big elaborate dream, but… eh. *shrugs* He amuses me with his antics and he, like myself, doesn't like public displays of mushy lovey-dovey CRAP. Could I ask for anything more?

Don't worry, LB. I still love you more than him. Hey—we still have that contract for a hot, scandalous affair every year, don't we? The "Labor Day Lust-fest" or something? What did you call it? Dude, just call me up and we'll have a go. *laughs* Just kidding. You'll always be my boy, even if you're not… my 'boy'. *prays boyfriend-creature never reads this* Yeah. You know what I mean. *blows kiss* Muah.

Please review and email! Tell me what you think! Are Joren and Keladry getting weirder or what?!


	20. Genius Arrives, Fashionably Late

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 20: **

**Genius Arrives, Fashionably Late**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

~~

He ran his fingertips delicately over the rim of his wine glass, wondering distractedly when last he sampled this particular brand of exquisiteness. With a slightly amused smirk, he concluded that he had in fact never tasted such fine wine. The mere thought of his first class trip up here to Tusaine was far more intoxicating than the alcohol could ever be.

It had indeed been a long time since he'd even considered indulging himself in anything that wasn't related to science—in particular, the more confusing areas involving animal and machine. After all, what had that got him? A prosperous job that he had fled from to save face from embarrassment (though that was not the story everyone _knew_) and a cluttered apartment in the slums of Carthak. 

Oh, and his dog. Odd little creature, he always thought, but his best friend nonetheless. 

Granted, he was a reinstated Federal Scientist again, after the dreadful Immortals incident, which had taken over his whole life. He had a paycheck from the Federal Council every month. And he certainly possessed all the means to buy a new residence—an estate if he so desired—outside of Carthak. But would he go?

Oh, not yet. There was too much on his mind to be trifled by where he slept and ate. Now that he was back in the public forum, back as _The Wizard_, he never went home except to retrieve Jump. 

There was a buzz at the door. Thom Trebond crossed the suite slowly, taking his precious time. His limbs felt so loose about him that he suddenly asked himself how many glasses of that red wine he had actually consumed. 

"Yes?" he answered while pressing the intercom. 

"Room Service, Sir. I have your meal, three parcels from Shining Knight Men's Wear that your ordered, and a message sent by COMscreen."

"A message? Why didn't I receive the call in here?" Thom asked while pushing the button that would slide open the spotless white door. A young woman dressed in a midnight black uniform and white apron (the most attractive looking would-be French Maid that he could ever hope to see) wheeled in a shiny metal cart with a covered meal on top and three parcels on the bottom. As soon as the cart was inside the suite, she pointed to a sterling silver plate with a folded card on it.

"You said you did not want to be interrupted while you were resting from your trip, Sir," she replied while curtsying. 

The famed scientist sighed dully. He supposed he had said that. Thom guessed there would always be a part of him that was still "Scatterbrained Thom", as his colleagues used to say. 

"Sir, shall I charge you separate from your hotel bill?"

"Oh, no. Please charge it all on the bill. My sister is the one paying for it anyway." Thom wondered if Alanna realized how unusually mistaken she was for letting him borrow her credit card. He dismissed the maid from his suite and tried not to let his gaze fall on her small rump as she departed. 

_Too young. You don't need scandal. The Trebond family is famous enough as it is._

He chuckled to himself. His long slim fingers, pale and smooth from never having done hard manual labor, picked up the white card and unfolded it. He read the small cursive script with an expression of distaste. He dropped the card back onto the plate and immediately went to the COMscreen by his leather armchair.

There were only two rings before a familiar redhead with violet eyes was face to face with him.

"Oh, good. You've arrived safely."

"Nice to know you're thinking about my safety at all, dearest," Thom said sarcastically. 

His twin sister made a face at him, wrinkling her nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that you were turning into a snob again now that reclaimed your Wizard throne."

"I'm not. Besides, I myself wonder if you're really concerned about my well-being, seeing as you've sent me here on a mission rather than a vacation." His eyes fluttered as he faked distress. Alanna glared at him.

"I asked you, mentioning that there were plenty of Dad's own men willing to lend themselves from the Service to come up there. But you said yes. And we all know that no one is going to suspect anything from _you_."

He snorted. "I'm offended."

"Hardly. You liar. So come on! You're the biologist. Expert on everything that has a pulse and everything mechanical that moves—not that the last one matters here. Find Liam Irons and tell me why he's still alive!" She ground her teeth in agitation. "Goddess knows, I shot him good and dead so long ago."

"So long ago? Are we that old?"

"Yes. That reminds me—keep your deprived hands off that maid that delivered this message. She looked like a preschooler on the COMscreen, Thom. I know you've isolated yourself from people in general for the last few years, but honestly. Hire an escort, for goodness sake." She raised her voice again when she noted he was about to interrupt her. "And when I say escort, I mean a professional escort, not a prostitute with a nice cocktail dress. You're not _getting any_ while you're on the job for _me_."

"It's absolutely lovely to know you think so highly of me. Escorts. Humph."

"Thom Trebond, get your ass to Liam Irons right now and put him under a microscope. I mean it!"

He blew a kiss at the screen. "Yes, sister dear. Take care. And make sure that husband of yours feeds Jump!"

She rolled her eyes, stuck out her tongue at him, and terminated the connection.

Thom grinned. He glanced at the antique clock hanging on the wall. The pendulum swung back in forth almost hypnotically. There was definitely time to taste the hot sirloin steak he had ordered. Liam Irons could definitely wait another hour. It wasn't as if his resurrected corpse was going to die again any time soon. And if he did, well, Thom could finally turn this into his own vacation, couldn't he?

He frowned when he noticed they forgot to include a suitable cutting knife for the steak. After ordering that from Room Service once again, he decided to contact his favorite pseudo-niece, Lalasa, to let her know he was in town. The brilliant scientist could also kill two birds with one stone by asking her to take him to Keladry Mindelan's apartment. If this Mindelan girl still had relations with Irons, or if she had any at all, he would use her to find the walking dead man.

She wouldn't object, he was sure. He remembered Kel very clearly from the last time he saw her at the Presidential Manor. 

"Too principled and loyal to the DJPF. And seeing as her role model is my sister and the whole instigator of this private investigation… well," he smiled. "This is going to be a piece of cake. And I _like_ cake."

The intercom buzzed. He laughed. "But not as much as I like steak."

~~

"Something tells me I should have stayed in the car," Neal muttered sarcastically while he glanced about himself. His two companions glared at him before returning to their attention to elsewhere. 

Faleron peered into the glass windows of the building. He hoped that he did not appear too recognizable. The former thief had even gone as far as wear colored contacts and color his hair with washout dye. He had to admit—light brown hair didn't look so bad, considering his natural hair color was black.

"I didn't think you to be a man of vanity, Fal. I'm disappointed," Cleon teased. While Neal and Faleron were dressed in business suits, he donned a lab coat and a nametag that indicated he was an intern. The attire had been swiped from the laundry carts in the janitorial area. Of course, he would return them. But should he get caught, this unknown "Carl" was just going to have to deal with it. 

They passed security without any problems. Each DJPF officer held his breath in anticipation of being caught, but Faleron appeared as relaxed as could be. He toyed with his cufflinks while they waited for the elevator. 

The Tusaine Branch of the Federal Science Department was actually a whole complex on Tusaine University's campus. Second-rate security guards had been replaced with competent DJPF officers because of the Tkaa Project crisis. Luckily, no one recognized Cleon or Neal. Since they were still relatively new to Tusaine, the two wouldn't have become acquainted with every officer yet.

They took the elevator up two floors. It did not take long to find a computer terminal, where they could access restricted files. Faleron locked the door behind them. Gently, he removed the faceplate of the intercom and began tampering with the wires and circuitry beneath. Cleon watched as Neal sat down and began to sort through specific records of access the night the program was stolen. 

"No backups. The backups were located in different folders, away from the original. They found those, too, and took them," he muttered while rubbing his chin. He looked up at Cleon to see the intrigue on his face. "What do you think, Red? This is your op, here."

Pride surged through Cleon's head, swelling his ego. He sat down on a stool and pointed to the screen. "What's that there? Open that one up."

A window on the screen opened up, revealing the details for a particular access late into the night. A click from the mouse produced another window, displaying the profile of a man in his late sixties. Neal leaned back in his chair.

"Voelden Tirrsmont. Senior Councilman and the former Mr. Mithros of three decades ago when he was still a bodybuilder." He massaged his upper arms. "Humph. I bet I could be Mr. Mithros."

"He's been in this building more than a dozen times all in the same week. What was he up to?" Cleon asked, not expecting an answer from the other two men. 

Faleron tapped the screen. "That's not right."

"No d'uh, Thief Boy. We all know that," Neal retorted.

"I'm serious. That man did not come in here. It's not right," Faleron firmly spoke. He leaned over Neal and stabbed his finger again at the image. "I saw it in the news less than a month ago. He had a stroke that put him in a coma. I never heard anything since to prove that he's awake and well."

Cleon frowned. "Someone is using his identification to get in here? And no one is noticing?"

Neal winced. "Perhaps we should keep that one to ourselves. The Council and the rest of the Federation would chew the DJPF out about that security bumble."

"Okay. We have to find out who would be able to use Tirrsmont's ID. Anyone up for a trip to the hospital?"

"I just got out of there! No!" Neal protested.

"Tough luck, Squealin' Nealan," Faleron smirked. He patted the pocket where his employer's card was. He was thoroughly pleased that they hadn't been caught in the act. Of course, he never expected them to be. He was too good at this. It was like breathing air to him. Sneaking around for the common _good_, that is.

The sharpshooter whistled and leapt up from his stool. "What are we waiting for boys? The trail is getting warmer. And you _know_ I like it _hot_!"

"Oh, phew. For a second there, I thought he was going to have a whole day without a corny line." Faleron lifted his hand to his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He received a light punch from the redhead. Then, he started to unlock the door for them to exit. Neal logged out of the computer, erasing the internal log of their little visit. 

Cleon was the first out of the room. He immediately slammed into someone passing by. The force of the impact caused him to fly backwards into his companions. Neal had to brace himself to keep all three of them from falling. Cleon arms flailed about in a windmill fashion before he found his center of gravity again and stood straight.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry!" he hastily exclaimed to the man he had intercepted.

Faleron rubbed his shoulder where Cleon had leaned. He eyed the newcomer with distrust. Then the former thief quickly switched to disguised mode and brushed himself off. "I apologize for his clumsiness as well. Thank goodness we pay these men for their multiplications tables and not their grace, right?"

The man, seemingly in his thirties though his hair was completely white, smiled at them. Faleron felt drawn to the man's magnetic aquamarine eyes. He forced himself to look away as the stranger spoke. "I know what you mean." His gaze flickered over to Cleon. "I hope you didn't hurt anything?"

"Oh, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry, again."

He nodded to them politely and continued on his way. As soon as he rounded the corner, the sharpshooter started cursing to himself while rubbing his chest where it had struck the other man's shoulder.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Neal questioned.

"No, not really. Man! It was like slamming into a brick wall, dudes! That guy didn't even stumble. Did you see it? Did you?" he asked with wide eyes.

"I wonder who he was," Faleron whispered.

"Who cares? We have to get to the hospital and see if we can pick up any leads from Mr. Tirrsmont," Neal reminded. The three men dismissed the brief incident from their minds and headed for the exit. Before they were out of the building, a female intern made a nice comment about Faleron's dyed hair. He inwardly reminded himself of Fianola while receiving teasing looks from his two DJPF friends.

"He coulda been a contenda," Cleon recited in a horrible imitation of an accent. 

"And when he says contender, he means player," Neal said in a stage whisper to annoy the former thief even more.

Faleron shrugged his shoulder. "I think I just raised my fee. Dinner with entertainment. Belly dancers with dark hair." He paused and smiled devilishly. "Just like Kalasin."

"Low blow, man. Low blow," Cleon glared.

~~

Keladry spared a glance at her partner while they sped along the road toward the DJPF station. He was more than just her partner now, yet he was still as distant as the first time she met him. Kel frowned. Her embrace unintentionally tightened around him, no matter how much she told herself that he was doing his best to become a better person, despite how he appeared at that moment.

Feeling her arms squeeze him, Joren thought of asking her if anything was wrong, but he could not bring himself to utter a word. He concentrated on his driving, leaning in on a turn. Joren didn't know why he couldn't force himself to express his feelings like a normal person. He tried. He was _still_ trying. And that was the best he could do.

_Take your time,_ he told himself. _There's nothing else to do._

When they arrived at the station, Joren found himself disturbingly grateful to stop touching his partner, even if it was an innocent motorcycle ride. He didn't feel innocent. He had not felt innocent in a long time. Keladry, however, missed touching him. She inwardly feared that if she let go, he would disappear. She felt miserable for developing such dependencies.

She'd lived her whole life being independent. These newly realized feelings for her partner were like a crutch that she feared would be kicked out from under her at any moment. 

_Too much vulnerability. Is this how he feels?_ She wondered.

"The car isn't here," Joren observed, his head swiveling around to scan the garage.

"They can still be inside," Keladry interjected. He nodded.

Inside, they checked the cubicles assigned to Neal and Cleon when they were actually working at the station. The workspace was undisturbed. Keladry even checked with Neal's God brother, Dom, but the Rider hadn't seen him since early that morning in the coffee room. 

"He was headed to the third computer lab, I think," he offered, flashing a charming smile to her. Joren fought to check himself of his jealousy.

"Thanks, Dom." Keladry smiled just as brightly in return. The more she spent with her friends, the more Keladry discovered she liked to smile. Even if she wasn't on a level deep enough to confide in them in trustworthy ways, she still saw herself as having come a long way from who she used to be.

The Rider chuckled and opened his mouth to say something else that he hoped would lead into a bigger conversation, but Joren caught on to his ploy. 

"Whatever. Let's go," Joren snapped. He stalked ahead, causing Keladry to jog to catch up with his quick strides. She dismissed Dom from her mind almost as quickly as he'd entered it. The Rider, a bit offended, hid his disappointment by casually shrugging it off and wandering over to another group of elder officers for more small talk. He looked over his shoulder.

Dom smiled at their hasty exit. After a moment's debate, he decided that he knew exactly what Joren was thinking. It comforted him to know that his old comrade was finally rejoining the human race, although in bits and pieces at a time. _He'll be kicking back with the rest of us within a month._

Elsewhere, Keladry went through random files and computer disks lying about the third computer lab. None of it was related to the Tkaa project. Defeated, she sat down and folded her arms across her chest. 

"At least they're not dumb enough to leave tracks," Joren said. He sat in the chair beside her backward and rested his arms on the back of it. 

Keladry rolled her eyes. She considered a moment before laying a hand on his arm. He recoiled.

"What's wrong now?" he asked in a displeased, monotone voice. His eyes gazed aside at her troubled expression. 

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Is it something to do with a clown, a flirt, and a smartass?"

The female officer hid her amused smile expertly behind a mask of disdain and shook her head. "Actually, no."

He sighed. There was only one other thing she could be talking about. He didn't want to talk about that anymore. They'd done nothing _but_ talk about it all day. He feared that if he did any more talking, he would start spouting love poetry like Neal or become hopelessly whipped like Cleon. Of course, he now admitted that starting over with Keladry was what he wanted, but he still felt so uncomfortable. He felt… like a simpering _wimp_. 

He tried to banish their earlier 'romantic' scene in the hallway from his head. For a brief second, he wondered what the others might say, but then he told himself that he had never given a damn about their opinion, so why start now? Joren trained his eyes on the wall in front of him. "I thought it was made _clear_."

Upset at his negative response, Keladry gritted her teeth and threw her hands up in the air as a sign of frustration. "Oh, I don't know! Forget I even said anything again. It's stupid.  You're right. It was made crystal clear and I won't bring it up again."

She lowered her head. Keladry was mad at herself for being caught up in a fit of emotion, when it was certainly not her nature to do so. Everything she had been feeling and confessing in the last day had been hard to adjust to. She couldn't convert right away. Trying harder _not_ to change was even harder than letting it go.

And he wasn't making it any easier! Had he not said an hour ago that he wanted to start over? Had she not thrown caution to the wind for the umpteenth time _because of him_ and then had it thrown back in her face? Every time Joren revealed part of his true self to her, he automatically regained his senses and covered it all up like a bad coat of paint in his room. He couldn't decide what he really wanted, she realized. 

_I can't believe this is happening,_ she thought. _AGAIN._

Keladry glared at him and hoped that he felt some regret for his mood swings. She couldn't believe that she'd abruptly changed her whole personality to be open and welcome to his battered spirit. It made her want to kick herself.

"Kel?" He raised one eyebrow suspiciously.

"Stone?" she replied icily. 

"You're pissed off more than before."

"You think?" she snapped. "I told you, it doesn't matter. It's stupid."

Joren leaned over, still straddling his chair, and cupped her chin. He brought her face close to his and made her stare into his clear blue eyes. "You're right. It _is_ stupid. So stop it, because I hate kissing melodramatic people."

With that, he lowered his lips onto hers and gave her a surprisingly warm, affectionate kiss. Keladry held her breath, unsure of what to make of his new attitude. The blonde pulled away and stood up, acting as if nothing important had occurred. 

"I'm going to see Buri. Stay here," he ordered. His insides were strangely fluttering and he didn't want her to see him tremble.

When he was gone, Keladry touched her lips, still burning from his heat.

"Mood swings," she muttered with a sigh. Hopeless and tired, she rolled her eyes again and slumped in her chair. "Well, definitely better than killing each other." She paused. "I think."

~~

"Well, what do you think of our luck! Keladry is at the station," Neal said, looking at the message on his pager from his best friend. 

"Why do you think she's looking for us?" Cleon asked. He leaned against the wall, pouting.

Faleron held up his hands and backed away. "Hey, this is your problem, not mine. I'm just waiting for my three course dinner."

Neal let out a deep breath. "Then there's only one thing we can do."

"What?" Cleon asked.

"Lie."

Faleron smiled. "Ah. Lie. Good choice."

"Lie? About what?" the redhead frowned.

"Whichever facts are lie-worthy."

"Okay, you're confusing me. Do we really have to lie to Kel? I mean, she's Kel!"

"My point exactly. She's still the same young woman we met half a year ago. Job first, then friends. If I were you, I'd just tell her you went to the forensics lab downtown in hopes that they found some microscopic clue in the Federal Science Building." He pointed to Neal. "Just page her back and be done with it. 

"I have a bad feeling about this," Neal muttered, but he did as he was told.

~~

Thom casually sat down on the couch, taking in his surroundings. It had been far too easy to coerce Lalasa to show him to the apartment building and convince her he was just visiting some friends. He considered Keladry Mindelan a friend, even if she was not present to visit with… and even if he broke into her humble abode. Thom would merely have to entertain himself. And he was very happy to do so.

"Now where, oh where, is her COMscreen?" he wondered aloud. 

The plan was nearly flawless. Thom expected for Liam Irons to have Caller ID of some sort on his COMscreen, so calling from Keladry's apartment would throw him off. Then with a few vague words, he would lure Liam to come here where Thom would extract his tissue sample.

"And whatever happens afterwards will be some good wholesome fun," he chuckled.

The scientist had no idea why he was being so mischievous and carefree these past few days. He blamed it on his twin sister's meddling. If she hadn't given him a break from his recently reconstructed life, Thom would probably be stressed over a new invention or a strange experiment. Perhaps his subconscious realized this was the last time he would be free from his demanding work. 

The thought of stealing tissue samples from a very dangerous man sent a fiery rush through Thom's limbs. The threat of being killed by this man made him want to shout and jump up and down, as if this were the last chance to be lively. 

"How appealing it all is," he whispered to himself, horrified with the words that fought their way out of him. "How attractive… this danger is…" He took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was time to work.

The COMscreen's memory bank was easy to navigate. Keladry never called anyone outside of work or her apartment building, save for a few friends. Thom scrolled down the list until he found the cell phone of Keladry's ex-boyfriend. He dialed up the number and waited patiently.

Liam apparently took the bait, for he answered in a partially angry, partially anxious voice. 

"Why are you calling me?"

Thom wished that he could see the other's reaction. He spoke. "Because I'm fascinated, Mr. Irons. And I'd like some questions answered, if you simply come over here."

There was a pause. More angrily, he replied, "Who are you? Why are you at her place?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Thom snorted.

"You can't use her against me. We broke up, if you hadn't heard. Who _is_ this?" Liam growled.

"A fan, Mr. Irons." He paused. "Wouldn't you feel guilty, though?"

"I have nothing to feel guilty about."

"You would if something happened to her because you refused to see me. Sure, you might not be dating anymore, but knowing her, you can't have possibly parted with ill feelings. You still hold some degree of _concern_ for her, right?" Thom said in a low, husky voice. He was compelled to pray for forgiveness from Keladry for using her when wasn't involved. But Liam wasn't natural. He defied the natural order of things by living. And that was all the justification that the logic-driven scientist needed.

The silence dragged on. Thom wondered if Liam had hung up. But then the other man spoke again, trying to hide the defeat that Thom could hear in his words.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming. But let Kel go. She's naïve; she doesn't half of the truth about—" he stopped himself, tripping over his potential giveaway. He covered up his mistake by telling Thom that there was a butterfly knife with his name on it, and hung up.

Thom took the conversation off the COMscreen log. Afterwards, he made himself comfortable on Keladry's couch, running his fingers through his short and flat red hair. He'd never willingly flirted with danger like this. He'd spent his life being deceived and also very naïve. Now there was no one to blame except his own foolishness.

"Here's to the higher things, then," he said fleetingly. He should have brought some more of that wine so he could have toasted to the statement. In the end, he swung up his legs onto the couch and slipped into a peaceful nap.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Thom opened his eyes immediately. He sat up and smoothed the wrinkles on his shirt. He was going to make a good impression—one of confidence and mystery. The last thing he wanted to look like was a slob. 

He banished the majority of his fears and pressed down on the intercom button. "Mindelan residence. All fiends welcome."

"Cute," was the sarcastic reply. "Open the damn door."

Thom did so. As soon as the door had slid open a crack, Liam's fingers curled around the edge of it and pushed the rest through. He dashed forward and shoved a gun in Thom's face, right between the eyes. The older man toppled backwards while Liam continued to bear down on him with the gun. The door slid shut.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you," Liam challenged.

Thom closed his eyes, nervously, and tried to come up with a suitable response. What he got instead were thoughts of how sweat was forming at the small of his back and the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes again and looked to the side of his head. 

"Keladry is bound to ask some questions if she finds my dead body on her carpet. And even if you get rid of my body, there are always bloodstains. I don't care what you think you're capable of. You'd never be able to wash it out completely." He grinned. "Your ex-girlfriend is very perceptive when it comes to things like this. She'd notice any discoloration or smell right away.

Thom couldn't get rid of the nauseous feeling at the pit of his belly, but vomit on the carpet wouldn't escape Keladry either. At that particular point, though, blood or vomit, Thom decided that the latter was preferable. "You don't have a silencer on that damn thing anyway. She has neighbors, you know. And they're all enforcers of the law."

The barrel of the gun dug hard into his skin. Liam pressed a little more, having no need to show the fury in his expression when his hands were communicating the emotion even better. 

"You think you're a smart little shit, don't you? Well, come on. Tell me why you wanted to see me. We'll see how smart you really are."

"Let me up first."

He obliged, keeping his gun pointed at Thom's head and knowing that the unarmed man was much weaker. "Only because you stand no chance on the floor or off it."

Thom rubbed his forehead where a red impression of the gun barrel was now visible. He brushed himself off and extended his hand to his guest. "The name is Thom. I am a friend of Keladry's, even if she's not the apple of your eye any longer."

Liam looked down at the proffered hand and snorted. "I don't shake hands."

"Well, besides being a scientist and inventor, I am a civil businessman and I _do_ shake hands," Thom insisted, never withdrawing his arm an inch. He bit the inside of his cheek. There was no other way to do this. He had to shake the man's hand or throw the whole scheme out the window.

His boldness paid off. The younger hit man reluctantly reached out to Thom's to show that he wasn't intimidated. If anything, his arrogance was to blame. They clasped hands uneasily. Suddenly, Thom squeezed hard, and a needle extended from his cufflink and stabbed the back of Liam's hand. He retracted immediately, hissing at the sting. 

"Why you little—" he choked out angrily. He cocked his gun and pointed it at Thom's head again.

"I thought we already had this conversation," Thom warned. He fiddled with his cufflink to make sure the sample was secure.

The other man reached into his jacket and pulled out a black cylindrical shape. "Oh, what do you know—a silencer." He sneered. Liam also glanced toward the kitchenette. "And golly," he sardonically continued, enjoying the mockery. "I happen to know where she keeps the plastic trash bags and the Saran wrap. So much for staining her beautiful carpet."

"Hey, now—"

"Shut up. Whatever that needle was, hand it over." Liam fitted the silencer onto the end of his gun and gestured toward Thom's cuff again.

A shaky laughter bubbled up from the scientist's throat. "I'm not sure you want me to give it to you. The full dosage would be liable to kill you."

"What?" Liam's eyes widened.

"Look at the back of your hand, my friend. Notice anything odd about it?"

He looked. The puncture mark was swollen and purple. Liam cursed. "What was that thing?"

"Poison from a snake that a K'mir gave to me. Did I tell you I once had a little menagerie? Many animals, all very wonderful creatures." With building confidence, he shrugged. "The needle that stung you is actually not one, but two needles. One extracts a sample; the other inserts the poison. I have an antidote, but that's only if you cooperate."

"What's the sample for?" Liam asked warily.

"I'm a fascinated scientist who is innocently curious as to your existence." He cleared his throat. "I believe you've met my sister, Alanna? She shot you dead years ago." He hid his increasing fear and nausea by showing him a tight-lipped smile. "Curiouser and curiouser, like Alice says."

The back of the hit man's hand started to throb. It wasn't a bluff, as much as Liam hoped it was. 

"Not feeling at the top of your game, hmm? I bet I'm the first one in a long time to make you lose your cool, eh?"

"Not really. I have my gun aimed at a particular blond nuisance in my spare time. So what is it that you want from me now? I assure you, if you don't give me that antidote, I'm very capable of placing a bullet in your head while I'm in my death throes."

Thom knew he was crossing the line, but he was interested. "What can you possibly offer me?"

"The answers to a million questions. You science geeks are all about answering the questions of the universe, aren't you?" he spat.

"Tempting, but keep going. I don't think you could give me the answers to my questions anyway."

"The Tkaa Project. I know who stole it and I know where and how they're using it _right_ now."

The nerves at the back of Thom's head tingled. "I heard of that project. I was told they never got if off the ground. I was wondering if they'd need my supervision, despite it being computerized and not purely mechanical, like I'm familiar with, but they were going to apply it to mechanical means." He scratched his chin, suddenly very interested.

Liam holstered his gun. "Hate to tell you this, but the project has been on for a while. It has nothing to do with your expertise, but I can show it to you." He appealed to Thom's vanity. "Aren't you also _curious_ to know how it works? You can see it in action if I take you there. The lowlifes have been having fun like little children with a new toy. They aren't using it to its full potential. I'm sure _you_ could think of plenty of applications, like you would have if the Department had included you.

He caused Thom to stare into his eyes and he held him there spellbound. His lips moved, forming silent words in a language that very few people knew. He chanted silently, waiting for the brightness in the older man's violet eyes to dim. When he was sure he was inside, Liam ceased his reciting and spoke to the scientist. "They must still have you in exile, in spirit, if not in body. Poor _Wizard_."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

_Is he?_

"Shut up."

"You're scared, Wizard?"

_Stop calling me that._

"Stop calling me that. Wizard has always been a stupid nickname."

"I know you want to see the project and how it works."

_Maybe just a little._

"You want to rescue it so the Department will hold the great Wizard in high esteem once again. Remember, just because you're back in the world of the living doesn't mean they'll treat you like a living human being."

_Have they ever?_

_No they haven't._

_This is a trick._

_But it's so tempting._

_You know you want to._

_You want to… so badly. _

_Why can't _you _ever have the adventure? Why can't they ever recognize _your_ genius?_

_Not even Alanna acknowledges that. She just makes fun of you like sisters always do._

Thom felt anger throbbing like an open wound over his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take control. But the temptation…

_Go. _

_See it._

**Take _it. _**

"Stop that!" Thom yelled.

Liam slyly smiled. "Coming?"

Thom ground his teeth together. "Fine. Let's go."

He pushed past Liam toward the door. The hit man exulted in his having turned the tables. Enishi Yukishiro hadn't resurrected him to be a muscle without a brain. The mind of Liam Irons was as sharp as a razor, and even more dangerous.

~~

"Where is it?" Thom asked. The two men were in one of the back rooms of a popular nightclub downtown. He wished he hadn't agreed to come, but something inside him wouldn't let him refuse to.  Now he stood beside the man that he was supposed to have manipulated, not the other way around.

Liam glared irritably at the swelling puncture wound on his hand. He flexed his fingers, trying to circulate some feeling, but he could already feel it going numb. This scientist was going to pay for his little trick. "This way, Mr. Trebond. But please, be quiet. The men we are dealing with aren't all there upstairs. They're impulsive and dangerous."

"Maybe it's best, then, if we leave—"

"I don't think so." Liam turned and stared at Thom with a piercing gaze. "We are going to recover this stupid project and you are going to give me the antidote."

Thom didn't respond to that. He submissively followed the hit man as he went through an open door and entered another room filled with people.

There was a long table under a lamp that shone red. The executive chairs surrounding the table were filled with men and women, some with "companions" that occupied their attention. Other men and women were drinking and laughing as they conversed. Only two men in white-collar shirts and ties kept to themselves. They were seated around a large network of computers and wiring. Between their two chairs was a black box with a strange lizard image on it.

"Yo, man! What's up? Who are you?" a man shouted over the loud music playing. He approached the newcomers in a not exactly straight path.

"'Shiro sent us. Can you come with us for a second, buddy?" Liam yelled in a city accent that Thom had not heard him use before. The man, tipsy as he was, shrugged and followed them back out, grinning.

They went back down the corridor until they found a niche in the wall with one very dim light overhead. Liam stopped and turned around.

"What's going on, man? Who's 'Shiro? Is he a new guy?"

Liam reached into his jacket, smirking. "Not 'Shiro. _Yuki_shiro. He sends his greetings." With that, he quickly drew a knife and plunged it into the man's chest. The man opened his mouth to scream in pain, but Liam covered it with his free hand to muffle the sound until the man was dead.

Meanwhile, Thom backed against the opposite wall, eyes wide. Frozen to the spot, he could only watch as Liam dragged the man into a dark corner behind some pipes. Then, Liam returned, flipping through the dead man's wallet. He finally found the plastic card he was looking for and tucked it into his back pocket.

"Why did you do that?" Thom finally gasped.

"Because it needed to be done." He paused. "You know what? Go back there and get the man's leather jacket. You look too obvious in that crap you have on," Liam commanded. When Thom didn't budge, he stepped up close and stared the scientist down.

"Do it."

Thom, trying not to retch at the idea of robbing a corpse, reluctantly went into the dark space and took the man's jacket. The body was still warm. Thom shuddered and ran back into the lighted area where Liam was waiting.

"Don't just stand there; put it on."

"But—"

"Just put the damn jacket on!" Liam bellowed.

Thom gulped. He clenched his teeth as if in pain while he slipped on the leather jacket. Afterwards, Liam gestured for him to follow. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Look. We're going to go in there. Some very bad shit is about to go down. You go straight to that black box and stay there until I tell you to grab it and go. I'll clear the path."

It seemed to Thom that his whole universe had just been turned upside down. Everything was happening so fast and Thom couldn't react in time to save himself. He shook his head to clear it, but when he opened his eyes again, everything was as confusing as it was before.

"I… What are you going to do?"

"Don't ask. Just give me the antidote so I can do what I need to do."

Thom tensed. That was the catch. "No."

Liam held his hand out, palm up. "You don't want to disagree with me right now. I can turn around and leave you here any time, Mr. Trebond. I'm sure those men in there would be overjoyed to see the Wizard crash their party."

"You wouldn't. You need that antidote."

"Yes, I've been thinking about that. As much as it is a pain in the ass right now, I'm willing to die for a second time. Came back once, didn't I? I could always come back again."

His list of options was short now. Thom debated with himself what would be the wiser choice. Despite having lived and worked in Carthak for years, he was never good at social interaction with the scum of the city's underbelly. He couldn't hope to escape this dark place with his body intact. He'd seen men carrying around guns, drinking and swearing. 

They could break him like twig.

Then again, would Liam still refrain from killing Thom once he had the antidote? The hit man could easily kill Thom and steal the Tkaa project on his own, if he was as dangerous as he claimed. 

But if that was the case, why had Liam Irons never taken the task upon himself if he had discovered the location of its hiding place? Why did he wait until now, to lure Thom in and use the project's location as a trump card for an antidote that he said he did not even need?

"Politics," Liam spoke.

The violet-eyed man blinked. "What?"

"Mob politics, you could say. Mr. Yukishiro will be very displeased that I interfered, but I feel that this is necessary." An imperceptible shadow crossed his features. "And perhaps I don't care about pleasing him anymore. Perhaps I'd rather pass _that_ job on to someone else."

With those words, Thom completely forgot to ask about Liam reading his mind. Instead, he pressed himself closer up against the wall and wished he could disappear into thin air. His brilliant scheme had backfired and now he was probably going to die.

"Give me the antidote, Mr. Trebond. I promise you'll live."

_There's really nothing else to do._

_Just trust him. He would have killed you long ago if he meant to do it._

_The antidote. Give it to him._

Thom trembled as he reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the tiny hypodermic needle.

~~

_"Now, when we're in there, just act normal and make your way across the room to the computers. I'll talk with the guys in charge. A fight is going to break out. And when it does, the computers will be destroyed and you will push the men guarding it aside and grab the black box. Either jump over the table or slide under it and head toward the door. Your path will be clear."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Because it will be. You wait for me in that place where I hid the body. If you leave, I'll come after you and make your death slow and agonizing."_

_"I… I understand."_

Thom's heart pounded in his chest, each beat like a large drum in his head. He tried to relax and be inconspicuous. He even winked at some women who looked in his direction. When he and Liam had entered the room, the latter had immediately called out something crude in a city accent to eliminate any doubts the men in the room had about them.

It was hard for Thom to believe these men had managed to steal something so important from right under the DJPF's noses. If anything, he believed that the two tired looking men at the computers were the ones responsible. They were skinny and weak. Any man in the room could have intimidated them to do as they said.

Thom's head snapped up when he heard a shout from a few feet away. Liam and another man were arguing. And all of a sudden, Liam shoulder tossed the man in Thom's direction—or more specifically, in the direction of the computers.

At once, the two skinny computer technicians bolted up from their seats and ran. Other men in the room seized them and pinned them to the floor. As the thrown man crashed with the computer equipment and smashed it on the floor, bullets also imbedded themselves into the man and the equipment. 

"What are you standing there for?! Get it and run!" Liam shouted. He ducked behind another man and used him as a living shield.

The room was thrown into chaos. In the dim red light, Thom darted forward and picked up the black box, ripping the wires connected to it and ran toward the door. Two women in skimpy dresses lunged for him, but he slid under the table at the last second and crawled out to the other side.

He then came face to face with a man's shiny black shoes. The scientist, scared out of his wits, had the misfortune to look up just in time to see the man take a bullet to the face and fall. He screamed and scrambled to his feet.

"Shit! Oh my—"

"Down! Now!" Liam yelled, firing his gun.

Thom threw himself to the floor again in time to see another man fall. He crawled forward hands and knees with the box under his arm. The sound of firing guns filled his ears as he made his escape. The red light overhead flickered on and off, silently plunging the room into complete darkness.

He refused to even _think_ about the wet warm flesh his hand had just came down upon. Biting back the taste of bile in his mouth, he went on. Thom groped for the doorway. Once outside, the redheaded scientist got up and ran.

Eventually, he returned to the place where Liam had hidden the body. Thom set down the black box and threw off his jacket. He couldn't touch it anymore. He wouldn't. A sensation similar to spiders crawling over his body overtook him. He wiped his bloody hand on the wall, but the red stain remained.

"I can't just let it happen like this. Irons can kill me whenever he wants. He probably will!" he whispered to himself. "Think, Thom. You're supposed to be the smart one. Think of something!"

His world was coming to an end. There was no other way to express it. Here he was, once a famous and revered scientist, awaiting a man who had just killed a lot of people like he was firing at fish in a barrel. Thom would never see his dog again. He would never feel the warmth of a bed again or the satisfaction of a full stomach. 

The danger was no longer as attractive as he had arrogantly thought an hour ago. Back then, he'd been drunk on illusions of grandeur. Now the ugliness and stench of reality washed over him like a hangover. 

That day, Thom decided that if he survived, he would never do his sister another favor ever again.

~~

Liam found his hostage leaning against the wall under the hanging light bulb. He stopped a few paces short from him and narrowed his eyes.

"Where's the black box?"

Thom let out a deep breath. "I, um, hid it."

"You what?!"

"I hid—"

Liam bridged the gap between them and wrapped his hands around the redhead's neck. Thom clawed at Liam's fingers, trying to free himself. The grip on him only tightened.

"Where is it, Trebond? Tell me or I'm painting this wall behind you with your brand of red," Liam hissed, his nose an inch away from Thom's. He grabbed one of Thom's wrists with a free hand and dragged Thom off of the wall toward the dark space behind the pipes. "Or maybe you'd like to spend time with a new special friend!"

Thom thrashed about, but his only reward was an elbow in the face and again, the two hands around his neck, trying to deprive him of life-nourishing oxygen. He coughed and fell to the ground. Liam drew a new gun from his jacket and pointed it at him.

"The black box, Trebond. Where is it?" he grated.

"Right there," Thom pointed above him.

The hit man tilted his head back. He did not move in time and the box fell from it's frayed wire onto his head, knocking him out. Liam collapsed onto the ground, unconscious. The gun clattered to the ground a foot away. 

Without wasting time, Thom picked up the box and hugged it to his chest. He grabbed Liam's gun and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He didn't know how long Liam would be out, but hopefully, it would be long enough. Then, he got up and retraced his way down the corridor to the alleyway entrance that they had used to enter. The DJPF would come. He'd paged them right before Liam came. 

He would wait for the authorities to arrive. Thom imagined that he'd be questioned about why he came to Tusaine. Alanna wouldn't appreciate it if Thom had ratted on her ever-important quest to find out the truth about the unconscious man on the floor. He would just have to make another brilliant lie.

Besides, he was more concerned with the reward he would get for retrieving the Tkaa Project. And then he could rub it all in the department's face and spend the next part of his life gloating like he ought to.

"Because I'm the goddamned bloody Wizard," he muttered sarcastically. "And it's what I do best."

~~

Keladry and Joren walked purposefully down the dark corridor, squeezing past other DJPF officers and Federal agents as they cleaned up the crime scene. When they reached the room at the end with a hazy red light shining out from it, they stopped. Cleon dove out of the doorway, hands over his mouth and looking green in the face.

"Move!" he cried, and shoved past his friends to vomit by the wall. Keladry inwardly grimaced, feeling sorry for him. She turned back to the doorway, but again it was blocked.

"You don't want to go in there," Neal warned, his expression grim. "It's a friggin' slaughterhouse in there."

Joren moved past him and entered, while Keladry stood with Dom.

"What happened?"

He pointed over his shoulder at a group of Federal agents surrounded a familiar man huddled in the middle. "That's what they're trying to get from him."

Keladry frowned. She marched up to the group and elbowed her way through. When her gaze landed upon the interrogated survivor, she gasped.

"Thom?"

Thom looked up. "Oh. Keladry." He seemed embarrassed. "Fancy you being here."

"I live and work here in _Tusaine_," she said, doubtfully glaring at him. "Unlike _you_, Thom. What are you doing here?"

The weary scientist/inventor stood up, forcing out a chuckle. He was pale and sweaty. Kel feared that he would collapse from exhaustion if he didn't sit down again. He continued to stand anyway. "I was in town visiting Lalasa, and I decided to go find some 'hip' places to entertain myself. Wrong place at the wrong time, as you can see."

"Oh?"

"Can you please call Lalasa and tell her I'm fine?" he asked, a hopeful smile lighting up his face. Keladry didn't want to say anything, but she had the oddest feeling that he was hiding something from her. She quickly dismissed that thought. From all her experiences wit him, Thom Trebond was a neurotic, eccentric inventor and animal caretaker who needed his sister and a mangy dog to defend him.

What could _he_ have possible done to bring about these events?

~~

When Thom was sure that Keladry's interest was thrown off, he smiled to himself and breathed a sigh of relief. He could rest assured that Keladry would never find out about his breaking and entering or his intention to use her as a threat to Liam.

Keladry faced him again. Her eyebrows rose. "Thom?"

"Yes?"

She leaned forward and squinted at him. "You have a bee sting on your neck. Or… or something. There's a tiny red cut and all this purple swelling around it."

His heart skipped a beat.

"What did you say?"

"I _said_," Keladry rolled her eyes. "That there's a bee—"

Thom's hands flew to his neck. His mouth opened to form a large 'O'. He breathed in and out quicker than before. There had been no bees anywhere he went. And the sudden pain he felt touching his neck could really have meant only one thing.

"The venom… he…" Thom gulped hard and made a pained sound of shock before he collapsed.

~~

"I wonder what he was talking about," Keladry muttered, folding her arms across her chest. She watched as men in white uniforms exited the building with stretchers and body bags. The ambulance carrying Thom Trebond to the hospital had left long ago. The head of the crime unit had decided to begin questioning him after he recovered.

That left a long time for speculation. She feared the trail would be cold by the time they got an account of the truth.

She looked up as her partner, followed by Neal and Cleon, came out. Cleon still appeared the worse for wear, pale in the face and clutching his stomach.

"Hey, Tough Stuff! We're going to head on home. They don't need us anymore," Neal called. He waved to her while leading the nauseated redhead to their car.

Joren sat down besides her, looking bothered and distracted by his thoughts. Keladry paused. Then she cleared her throat to get his attention.

He blinked. "Yes?"

"Did they find any other witnesses?"

"No. But that doesn't meant there aren't any others."

She remained quiet. She knew he wanted to run to the one person who had all the answers, but he also loathed the very sight of him. Keladry couldn't bring herself to care about it anymore. She was so exhausted by the day's events. Finding a large body count in the back of some nightclub while in broad daylight made no difference to her.

"I think…" Joren began. He stood up.

Keladry shook her head. "No. Stop it."

He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

She also stood and glared at him. "This mess is finally over. Things are clear and understood. The Tkaa project has been sent to the authorities and the whole region of Technological Whatevers are doing damage control. Leave it." In a smaller voice, she added, "Let's go home. I'm tired. And you are, too, whether you know it or not."

"I'm always tired."

"I know. And I can't change that, but at least for now—let's go home. Please?"

Joren met her pleading eyes and succumbed. With a face still set in stone, he replied. "For now."

~~

Author: Ta da! After more than a month, I'm back! It's the day after Thanksgiving. It's the weekend before I get my ass kicked for not doing any of my projects for school. It's the couple of weeks before I take the SAT and get something really embarrassing for a score, and it's about a month until CHRISTMAS! (and any other winter holiday that you celebrate, according to religion. ^.^) 

I hope you enjoy the episode, despite its focus on Thom rather than our normal cast. But hold on! There's one more to go before the bloopers! And I know how much you guys love bloopers! So email me and send me your blooper suggestions! 

Thanks again for reading! Reviewers, rock on!


	21. When I Was Young

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**Episode 21: **

**When I Was Young**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating: kinda PG-13. Mostly weird humor.

~~

"Oh, by _Glory_! How could I have forgotten?! He's going to chop off my head and serve it with enchiladas!" Keladry cried as sat up and stumbled out of bed. A minute previous, she had awoken and drowsily rolled over. Seconds later, she went on to wonder what day it was. And that was when it hit her.

It was her best friend's birthday.

For as long as she knew him, Neal had been there for her like a brother. He and Owen had taken a shy, nervous little girl and made her into one of them, the _cool_ cadets whom everyone knew. She'd had hardly any friends before they came along, but they shrugged it off, showed her the ropes, and accepted her all in the first day of their meeting. 

Sure, he may have chased girls all the time. His bachelorism didn't bother her as much as she showed. 

_"Please understand, Tough Stuff. Bachelorism isn't just a weird sounding noun. It's a state of mind." He paused. "Scratch that. It's a_ religion_."_

Keladry stopped in front of her closet, smiling inwardly at the memories. She grabbed the first outfit that touched her hands. After dressing in record time, she grabbed her credits (Cleon had borrowed all her hard money, i.e. Nobles and coppers, the day before) and prepared to run out the door for the greatest last-minute gift she could find. A person does not always have to purchase a gift to show they cared, but Neal was a bit materialistic at times. Keladry simply had to shop until the ultimate gift was found.

But then her doorbell rang.

If she weren't as self-disciplined as she was, Keladry would have screamed in frustration.

Putting on her most polite face, she pressed the intercom. "Mindelan, 1T. Can I help you?"

"Kel! It's me, Owen! Peg and I flew in from the Roof to surprise Neal for his birthday!"

_Yes. That proves it. I am a horrible friend. Owen is the other third of our trio and he most certainly remembered!_ Keladry thought miserably. Putting on a large grin, she opened the door. Before she knew what was going on, she was swept up in a tight hug. She only received one moment to look over Owen's shoulder at the unfamiliar woman smiling at her because Owen began swinging Kel around in circles.

"Owen!" she yelled.

"Kel!" he shouted joyfully back.

"Owen!" she called more insistently.

"Kel!" he laughed loudly.

"Owen, she wants you to put her down," the woman informed, snickering from the doorway.

The blushing DJPF scout came to an abrupt halt. He sheepishly smiled and set his friend on the ground gently. Keladry blinked and shook her head vigorously to stop the dizziness.

"Kel, I want you to meet Peg. You remember her from my mail, right?"

Peg stepped forward, smoothing down her shirt. Both she and Owen were wearing their uniforms still, having come straight from the airport. Just as Owen had described, Peg looked like a surfer. Her dirty blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and her skin was deeply tanned. Even the sway to her steps reminded Keladry of someone strutting on the beach with a surfboard under one arm.

Keladry squinted. "I'm sorry, Peg. I'd love to shake your hand… just as soon as the room stops spinning."

The offending young man blushed a deeper shade of red and traced a pattern on the floor with the toe of his boot. His girlfriend hooked her arm with his and gave it a squeeze. Keladry, her head cleared, led them to the couch.

"When did you arrive?" Kel asked.

"This morning. We stopped for breakfast on the way here. This is fine city.  I bet you all have a jolly good time here," Owen remarked. He jumped up from his seat. "Golly! Our stuff is out in the hall. I'd better get it."

Keladry frowned. "You can always stay here. There are spare apartments, and you _are_ officers."

Peg also stood up. "Can we really?"

"Government funded housing. 'They do their best to support their DJPF,'" quoted Kel. "I'll talk to Stefan for you, later."

"Thank you so much, Kel. Owen has told me a lot about you." Peg smiled. Whenever Owen had been bothered by Aiden's and Crown's _activities_, he would seek refuge at her tent. When they weren't sneaking kisses, he had told her about his life at the Academy with his two best friends, Neal and Keladry. Peg felt like she had grown up with them, too.

Owen reentered with the luggage and joined their conversation. Keladry knew she should have been at the shops by then, scouring the shelves for the perfect gift, but she couldn't leave her guests there. If her mother taught her anything, it was to be a polite and well-mannered hostess. She reminisced with Owen over their youth. Then, Owen and Peg recalled their lives since Owen's last letter. The Immortals had found homes where they could live in peace. Owen's group had even spent a day with merpeople in their new lake. 

They'd seen wondrous places one normally wouldn't predict to find at the Roof of the World. Keladry wished they had brought pictures. Her imagination wasn't as vibrant as it used to be. The words floated around her head, but they did not transform into something her mind could see.

"It sounds so exciting," Keladry said.

"It is! It would be so hard to start living down south again," Owen sighed.  

The doorbell rang again. She rolled her eyes. She was never going to get out of her apartment to buy Neal a gift. 

Keladry answered the door. Joren entered, frowning slightly when he saw that she had company seated on her couch. She could tell that he had planned on not working that day because he was dressed in civilian clothing. 

"Kennan and King reserved the pool hall for tonight. I suppose they forgot to tell you."

"Wait. How do you know about his birthday?" she asked, mortified at the thought of Joren—someone who hated Neal like a cartoon dog hated a cartoon cat—knowing about the birthday before she did.

"They begged to borrow a significant amount of money from me last Monday…to rent the pool hall," he clarified after a moment. Her blue-eyed partner seemed to be reading her thoughts. "What, did you actually—"

She could have died of humiliation right there. Her cheeks flushed a pale pink color. Joren considered deepening her guilt by lingering on the topic. Instead, he walked toward her guests. He rested half his weight against the back of an armchair. "So, Jesslaw. You're still in the DJPF. How nice."

Although Owen knew the words were dripping in sarcasm, he didn't want to start any verbal battles with the offensive officer. Peg's elbow was in his side, prodding him to say something that would defend himself. But Owen knew Joren's ways. It would be pointless. He shrugged. "I figure I have a few more years before I become incompetent."

Joren's eyebrows rose imperceptibly. Owen was going about this better than he used to when they were still in the Academy (not that Joren ever paid _too_ much attention to Owen and Neal at all). He turned to Keladry, having followed him from the door.

"J-" she began, then stopped. Glancing at Owen and Peg, she corrected herself. "Stone, isn't there somewhere else you have to be?"

He smirked as he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder. "No, but I'll take the hint if you will step outside with me just for a moment."

"It's okay, Kel. You go ahead," Owen told her. He didn't know how badly Joren still treated Keladry, but he bet whatever was said between them wasn't friendly. He hated to imagine her taking all that _crap_ from him, but then again, Owen supposed that she had learned to handle herself by now.

Peg squeezed his hand. He smiled at her.

Joren and Keladry left her apartment and stood outside her closed door. He looked down the hallway in both directions. Convinced that no one was exiting his residence any time soon, he darted forward and covered her lips with his own. She easily surrendered, taking in the whole scent of him and the warmth of his hard, well-toned body against hers. 

A muffled groan of satisfaction escaped Joren's mouth. He pulled back until only his forehead rested against hers. "Was damned annoyed when I arrived to find you _not_ alone. I suppose I'll forgive you just this once, though you don't deserve it," he smirked. "While they're here, it would be better to knock on my door instead of the other way around."

She nodded. Perhaps it was her lucky day after all. Her reluctant lover was actually in an amused mood. Keladry would be sure to enjoy that mood for as long as possible before he became aloof and awful again. She sighed in contentment as he backed her against the wall and started his sweet ministrations again.

"By the way," he muttered, pressing his mouth against the part of her neck just below her ear, "don't worry about Queenscove's present. I'll pick one up and put your name on it."

"Really?" Keladry asked, very surprised. Sure, his attitude was pleasant now, but she had never witnessed it become _this_ pleasant. If she didn't know any better, he could pass for any normal young man doing his "girlfriend" a favor. 

Joren sensually traced one finger from the center of her backside, around her ribs, to a point between her breasts. "Just make sure you stop by later. I won't forge your signature as a one-time courtesy." He paused. "And you can… pay me back for it. I'm sure you can think of something."

_I wish he acted like this all the time,_ Keladry thought, drowning in giddiness. It was as if she were drunk. She was intoxicated with his voice, rumbling low in his throat. It was incredibly sexy to hear. She didn't know if she could handle seeing his bad side again. Kel knew she would, but if it was a price to pay for getting this version of Joren Stone before her… maybe she really could adjust.

"You better go back inside. 'Jolly Jesslaw' must think I've murdered you by now," he snickered. 

"Yeah," she managed to say, still frozen to the spot with his ice blue eyes. He leaned forward and stole one last deep kiss, squeezing her tight against him so she could feel his desire for her. Then he quickly disentangled himself and started for his apartment without so much as a goodbye.

She shook her head. That was Joren for you. Always the dramatic (but not overdone) exit.

Upon seeing her again, Owen stood up. "Hi Kel! We were just wondering—hey, what's that bruise on your neck?"

Keladry would swear later that she could hear Joren, wherever he was, laugh with mischievous triumph.

~~

"This is _awesome_! Everyone's here!" Neal shouted over the music. He wiped away an imaginary tear. "I feel so loved…"

The same pool hall where Keladry had celebrated her birthday a few months ago was now hosting Neal's 26th birthday party. He usually spent his birthday with Keladry and Owen, staying at home to watch a movie and to fling popcorn at each other. This year, he had made so many new friends and acquaintances, everyone insisted on throwing him a party.

It was a huge turnout. They had put up balloons and streamers. Sparkling confetti was flung on the booths while the finger foods and free drinks were laid out at the bar. Random flyers had been passed around the DJPF station. Officers who barely knew Neal by face, let alone by name, showed up with a small gifts, big smiles or both.

"Thanks a lot, guys. I don't think I've ever had a party as great as this," he said. He, Faleron, and Cleon were standing by the door, greeting people as they entered. Some officers had already started a game of billiards in the back while the others were talking and eating. 

Faleron swallowed his food and smiled. "It was nothing."

At that moment, Roald, Lalasa, and Thom entered. Thom was still very weak, but well enough to stop by the party before he went home the next day to Carthak. He shook hands with Neal and excused himself to get a drink of water. He did not know Neal at all, but Lalasa did and Thom felt safer with large groups of people around.

"Happy Birthday, Neal," Roald said loudly. Lalasa handed Neal a gift and repeated the same words. She teased Neal about pairing up with a friend of hers, slyly winking at him while her boyfriend leaned toward Cleon.

"What is it, Dude?"

Roald pointed over his shoulder. "My sister is outside. She stopped to say hello to Ms. Sarrasri and Mr. Salmalin."

The redhead's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Cleon whooped in joy before running out the door of the pool hall toward the parking lot. Roald rolled his eyes and took his spot beside Faleron. "Some things never change, eh?"

"No, not in his case."

From outside, they could hear a feminine shriek of surprise shortly followed by a resounding slap.

"Oh!" Roald snapped his fingers. He nudged the former thief with his arm. "Fianola is on her way here, too. While we were picking up my sister at the airport, we bumped into some of the Riders. The other half of the group is finally home."

Faleron struggled to contain his excitement. He fidgeted on the spot, glancing over his shoulder when he thought Roald wasn't looking. Finally, he just turned and peered out the door. "Really?"

The Vice President's son nodded. "You can go out to check. I'll catch up with you later."

He smoothed invisible wrinkles from his shirt. He stuck his chin up in the air and scoffed. "Alright, but I'm not going to be like Cleon and run out there at full tilt. I'm more dignified than that."

"Sure you are."

Roald received a glare from his friend before Faleron exited in a slightly fast walking pace. He returned his attention to something Neal was saying to Lalasa over a bout of laughter.

Within another half an hour, the party was in full swing. Neal had started a surprisingly goofy game of building a house of cards on one of the pool tables. The pool players accidentally knocked the card houses over with their cues as they passed by. And though the pool hall did not really contain space to dance, a few officers and civilians did so anyway. The rest of the guests sat at the bar, conversing with each other.

Keladry wasn't much in the mood for building a house of cards with Neal and Owen (their team was winning; the little structure was 3 levels high while Ulliver and Wolset were at two levels). She also didn't feel inclined to dance by herself (Joren dance with her? Phsaw) and she usually never danced anyway. 

Just as she was about to head toward the refreshment table, Lalasa sauntered over, carrying two plastic cups of punch. 

"Hey girl!"

"'Lasa, hi," Keladry smiled. She could always count on the sassy Carthaki to reverse her mood. Lalasa put the two cups down on the bar top and sat beside her. Kel started to say something, but a small shiny object caught her eye.  Her eyes widened. "Lalasa, is that a diamond ring?"

Her friend lifted up her left hand to Keladry's inspection. "Sure is!"

The diamond was tiny, but it was real. The band of silver on which it was embedded was just as bright. She gaped at the piece of jewelry.  "Roald proposed?!"

Lalasa nodded vigorously. She grasped Keladry's hands and squeezed them. "He asked yesterday! I thought it would never happen!"

As if guided by some unseen force, Keladry gazed across the room and found Roald among the crowd right away. The quiet politician's son was probably the most levelheaded person Keladry knew beside herself. He was firmly rooted to moderate ideals and steadfast in all other matters, personal or not. At first, she had doubted if a solid, conserved attitude like that would attract an outspoken, vibrant person like Lalasa.

Apparently, they were an outstanding example of the infamous principle, "opposites attract". 

_Not that they're the only ones,_ Keladry thought. She couldn't see Joren anywhere, but she wasn't too disappointed. Parties weren't his kind of 'thing'. Her attention returned to her friend as Lalasa began to relate to her the details of the proposal.

"Oh!" Lalasa exclaimed in the middle of her story.

"What is it?"

"That reminds me of who _else_ has gotten together," she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Keladry inwardly panicked. Had Lalasa found her out? She nervously sipped from her punch and cocked her head to the side. "Really? Who?"

Lalasa gestured to her employer at another pool table. "I caught Ms. Sarrasri and Mr. Salmalin making out in the office." She shuddered at the thought. "I mean… it's nice and all that they've found each other, but it's my _boss_—making out with another guy who could also be _my boss_. A guy who quite frequently reminds me of _my boss_. It's weird."

Exhaling with relief, Keladry nodded agreeably. The idea in Keladry's mind was equivalent to Flyndon dating Commissioner Wyldon. She had an inclination to retch after that thought had entered her head. She drank again, not stopping until she had downed the whole cup.

"Thirsty, are ya? Here, sugar. I'll go get us some more," Lalasa said. She picked up the cups and headed toward the punch bowl.

While she was gone, Neal approached, cordless phone in hand. Keladry showed him an expression of confusion as he took Lalasa's seat, still attentively listening to the person on the other side. When he was done, he held the phone at length from himself, stared at it almost in disbelief, and tapped the button to hang up.

"Neal?"

He turned to her, eyes unblinking and a bit incredulous. "Guess who that was."

"I don't know. You tell me."

Her elder friend rested his chin on his knuckles, phone still in hand. "Uline, back at HQ."

Keladry smiled slightly. "Oh. Well, that's nice of her to call. I didn't know you two were that close."

"Pen pals, really. I need something to fill up the time I have when I'm not out pursuing a wo—" he stopped there and cleared his throat. "Well, besides that, do you remember her fiancé?"

She cringed. "Iden or something, right? Warric's magazine editor of a cousin?"

He nodded. "Was. Now it's Warric. Uline just invited me to the wedding as well as wishing me happy birthday."

"Warric? Really?"

Neal shrugged. "Never saw _that_ one coming." He hopped off the stool when Lalasa approached again. "Just wanted to give you the heads up! Want to come down to Tortall with me for the ceremony?"

"Sure, but I have to clear up my schedule first. I'll get back to you on it," Keladry replied. She made a shooing motion. "Go enjoy your party, Nealan."

"Yes, Mother!" he called over his shoulder. He retreated back to his friends, now flicking cards at each other from the fallen card houses. 

Afterwards, Keladry continued talking with Lalasa about nothing in particular. They covered a broad range of topics, including the hazards of learning to cook. The Carthaki had had an incident not too long ago involving an experimental recipe. Roald had to use the extinguisher while Lalasa had unsuccessfully attempted to shut off the loud blaring of the smoke alarm.

The conversation gradually came to a close. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, allowing each young woman to survey the party. The originally Tortallan officer perked up when she spotted the last person she expected to see at the pool hall. 

She excused herself from Lalasa and sauntered toward the winding hallway in the back, which led to the restrooms. As soon as she was out of sight from the main room, a leather glove covered hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her quickly against the side of a darkened figure she had not glimpsed in time. He backed her into the shadows behind the public COMscreen booths. 

A ledge on the wall dug into her back uncomfortably. She hissed and gently pushed her captor away from her so she could rub her back.

"As much as I enjoy you when you're not suicidal or homicidal, you've still got to stop being so rough," she grumbled. Keladry's complaint was rewarded with a pinch in the side.

"Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me," Joren retorted. She couldn't see his face, but she knew that his eyes were regarding her humorously from under half-lowered eyelids. 

Keladry slapped at the hand that had pinched her. "Are you calling me violent?"

He emitted a low chuckle and rubbed at the hand she had just struck. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Aggravated by her self-made irony, Keladry folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around her. His lips descended upon hers, erasing all hostile attitudes for the time being. The blond young man leaned in hungrily. By the time he was done with her, her lips would be swollen and another curious mark would be upon her neck.

While nipping at her collarbone, he grinned impishly. "Hey… let's ditch this place."

Keladry thought of Neal, whom she owed many days of friendship and happiness. She groaned. "No, I can't. It's his birthday!"

"Just ten minutes," Joren cajoled. 

A squeeze caused her to gasp and let out another delighted sound. She forced herself to focus. _Willpower! Willpower, Mindelan! What sort of girl_ are _you?_  Keladry sighed. "No, I really can't."

"Five minutes then."

She entwined her hands in his hair and brought his mouth back up to level with hers. Joren knew if he could just hold strong for a bit longer, she would give in and agree with him. It was her weakness. But not his.

"Okay, okay," Keladry relented. "In an hour or so. Just hang around and talk with Dom or something. Please?" She unceremoniously squealed again when he silently communicated his response. Her cheeks were still flushed red when the two finally emerged from the shadows, five minutes apart from each other.

Nothing too exciting happened until an hour later. Few still played at billiards while others had settled into a peaceful quiet. A holoscreen was turned on so the sports fans could view the football game that was taking place on the other side of the country. Neal and another female officer whom Keladry was not familiar with were becoming cozy in a booth, their privacy respected by the rest of the party.

It was at this point that the phone rang. The bartender answered it. He had held it up to his ear for less than ten seconds before calling out to the highest ranked person there to answer.

Buri stepped forward, shooting dark looks at the first class officers who thought that it was their call. Numair and Daine, assuming that it was DJPF business, had not budged an inch from their seats. Technically, they were the highest ranked people there, but such a general announcement would never have been made for them. The Council wasn't that public about its affairs.

"What do you think it is?" Daine murmured to her companion.

Numair shrugged. He sipped his drink. "I don't know, but the look on KJ's face tells me that she already knows. Should we ask?"

The councilwoman turned to stare at Kalasin. As he had said, Kalasin displayed a rather remorseful and miserable expression. Her fingertips drummed against her the jaw of her face. She was deep in contemplative thought over a difficult issue. 

The redhead beside her was also wondering the same thing as the Council members. Cleon wanted to ask what was going on, but he wasn't sure he would like the answer. In the end, he did ask. What surprised him most was that she willingly complied and told him.

They observed his face transform from curious to grim while Kalasin whispered into his ear. The news was certainly not welcome. Not too long after, Buri ended her conversation with Flyndon and cleared her throat. The noise of the pool hall disappeared at once.

She gave Neal an apologetic look before she spoke loudly, "All investigative units, move out! Suit up and get to the site. The addresses will be sent to your pagers momentarily." Buri paused. "A mass murder has occurred. Bodies have been found all across the city. Current evidence has been gathered to the extent that all victims are now suspected to be the cryptic bombers from the winter holiday. Allegations have been made also concerning their connection with the burning of Tortall's DJPF Academy."

Though no one wanted to move after her announcement, they forced themselves to do so with heavy hearts. The officers that had been called gathered their things immediately, checking their pagers sadly as they went out the door. A few of them called back half-hearted goodbyes to Neal, who was also preparing to leave. 

Even though he was among those who were not assigned to particular investigative units, he did not doubt that he would be asked to do something sooner or later that night. Neal put on a happy face, hoping to show that his birthday was not ruined at all. He'd had great fun up until then. That was all that mattered.

"I guess _he_ said to hell with mob politics," Thom muttered. He gulped down more red wine and made a face of disgust at the turn of events. 

Joren heard him. Who was _he_? He narrowed his eyes. Swiftly, he went up to Thom and took the inventor by the wrist, guiding him toward a secluded area to speak. The older man went without protest, fearing the officer and his reputation. Keladry watched from a distance and frowned. 

Elsewhere, others said their goodbyes and farewells without bitter thoughts and glasses of alcohol. The Riders gathered their things and chatted with the remaining civilians as they prepared to join their boss downtown.

"Do you have to go, too?" Faleron asked Fianola. She grimaced.

"Probably. If Raoul hasn't called for us by now, he will. This isn't his territory, but then again, he never leaves Flyn's jurisdiction alone." The petite girl embraced him and sighed. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?" 

"Of course," he replied, shyly accepting a chaste kiss on the cheek from her. They parted ways like other officer and civilian couples were doing at the same time. 

After ten minutes, most of everyone had cleared out. The party was over. The bartender and the bus boys began cleaning the booths while another bald man swept the floor. 

Keladry lingered at the door. She did plan on going, but she stayed back to see what Joren would do. She watched Joren carefully for his reaction. "I was thinking we should follow Cleon and Neal. What do you think?" 

Her blond partner adjusted his jacket. He didn't even look at her face as they exited the pool hall and emerged into the cold night air. The thin blanket of snow crunched underneath their feet. She shivered from the sudden chill across her skin, but he did not flinch at all.

"I've got something to do. Just follow them. I'll catch up later," he gruffly informed her and turned in the direction of his motorcycle. Keladry reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait!"

"Mindelan! I have not got the time right now!" he barked.

She withdrew her hand immediately. Keladry could barely believe her ears. "What did you call me?"

His eyes had become a cool wall of ice between them. It offered her no answers, nor any traces of warmth. She stepped back and clenched her fists by her sides. So, just as she had suspected, his good mood had not lived to last the day. The Joren she was more familiar with had returned.

"Just… just go, Mindelan. There'll be time to talk later." He walked away. A dozen retorts came to her mind, but she couldn't find the boldness to shout them. Keladry angrily turned on her heel and headed toward her own motorcycle.

There was always time for them to talk later. _Later_ was all they ever had. And all she ever wanted… was _now_.

~~

He had not bothered checking the old building. There was no doubt in his mind that the building had been cleared out ages ago. Not one shred of evidence would be left behind. It would be as if the dark underworld of Tusaine had never existed. Not even retired members of the notorious mafia would testify to its being. 

Only Joren would care to remember. Only he would want to speak of it aloud. 

After dismounting from his motorcycle, he wandered aimlessly until his feet led him back to his old apartment again. He let out a deep breath and crossed the street. The world around him was as silent as death. He could feel it invade his being like the iciness of winter that seeped into his bones.

A sudden movement at the corner of his eye caused him to jerk left and reach for his gun. When he identified the newcomer, he relaxed and waved him over.

"Come on. I have no time for this. Not like you."

Liam snorted skeptically at Joren's bitter statement. He came toward Joren and seated himself beside the blue-eyed man on the curb of the street. The nearest lamppost flickered on and off while fog from steam vents floated up through the frigid night air.

The two unlikely companions sat in silence. Neither wanted to initialize the conversation, but they knew it had to happen eventually.

It was Joren who impatiently began. "Why has he decided to pull up the roots and disappear?"

Liam smiled crookedly. There were many answers to that, but which would he give to Joren? He settled for an incomplete truth. "Damage control. Did you not hear the body count?"

"Was that city wide slaughter his doing?"

He shrugged ambiguously. "Not exactly." He paused, recalling an event from the past week. He offered Joren a false sense of security. "All you need to know is that we're leaving. And Tusaine, for once, is going to be without its vital powers."

After that sentence, they lapsed into another period of quiet. Liam rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air on his knuckles when he needed to. Joren could feel his lips becoming chapped and he pressed them together. The winter had definitely made its presence known. All creatures, wild and tame, had settled down for hibernation. Yes, even the beasts were too tired to fight.

Joren tucked his gloved hands into his jacket pockets and leaned his chest toward his knees. "Will he finally leave me alone?"

Liam Irons chuckled. "No. That's wishful thinking. Just enjoy the vacation while it lasts."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a million questions left unanswered."

"You're right. I'm not. I'm the one with a million qualities that just aren't good enough."

The anger behind those words was very apparent to Joren. It wasn't his business, but he couldn't understand what Enishi's lackey had to be upset about.  "What are you saying?"

Liam tucked his hands under his upper arms, also leaning his chest toward his knees for warmth. He didn't meet Joren's eyes. His gaze fell on the ground between his feet. "It's like being the first runner up in everything you do. I'm not Father's Favorite Son, nor am the beloved boyfriend… I'm not the most dangerous bad ass. And I'm not the most mysterious character. I'm not even the one with the most psychological problems! You even beat me in that damn department, Stone."

"Fuck you. You can _have_ that department. Be my friggin' guest," Joren snapped. 

The two men glared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they stood and backed away from each other. Liam shrugged his shoulders again, muttering obscenities. He laughed. "There's nothing else that really needs to be said. You knew it all before."

Joren nodded. "Unfortunately."

"Farewell then, Stone."

"Good riddance, Irons." He waited until Liam turned his back on Joren. "By the way, Thom sends his greetings."

Liam stopped in his tracks. He faced him again, a darkly amused smile on his face. At that moment late that night, the snow began to fall. It fell in little flurries, becoming white dots in the air as it descended toward the mortal earth. They didn't seem to notice.

"Oh. So you're telling me he lived?"

Joren nodded again. "Unfortunately."

"Ah well. Life's full of disappointments. Good night, Stone. And best regards to Keladry, from both Mr. Yukishiro and myself."

The dark haired man left Joren there at the curb. The snow was coming down heavier than before. Joren brushed some of it from his shoulders. He even shook his head to scatter the white snowflakes. He stopped trying after a while. No matter what he did, he couldn't rid himself of it completely.

He got his bearings and began retracing his steps toward his motorcycle again. His old apartment above the general store was empty. There was no light in the window. As he walked away from that block, he didn't expect to see any other familiar lights reappear. Why should they? What was done was merely that: done. 

A little nagging voice at the back of his mind told him to call Julia. He couldn't remember if he'd done so during the winter holiday, but it never hurt to do so again. The important thing was that whatever flame had been between them was long extinguished. Whatever spark of light that had been created from their unity had been stolen away.

As if on cue, the lamppost light finally died. Joren allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he trudged on, willful and determined to find his way home where a worried young woman would be waiting to forsake him and forgive him.

~~

Author's notes: Ta da! Season 2 is complete! I know I took incredibly long for a reasonably short episode (in my standards) but alas, lack of free time will do that to a person. Happy Holidays to all! 

COMING NEXT: SEASON 2 BLOOPERS! STAY TUNED!


	22. Bloopers

It Could Be Worse (2nd Season)

**BLOOPERS! **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating: kinda PG-13. Mostly weird humor.

~~

_Episode 1: Take a Break_

(Scene: Passenger area of the ferry across the Great Inland Sea)

The ferry was very quiet that time around. The crowds went on the early morning ferries, not the ones during lunch like the vacationing officers were. Faleron was peacefully sleeping on one bench. His hat was tipped over his eyes. Cleon and Neal had borrowed Faleron's deck of cards to play a game of Blackjack. That left Keladry to get some food from the line in the center of the passenger area. She came back and gave some bags of chips and bottled drinks to the card players. Then she sat across from Joren, who was fiddling with his portable database.

The muted light from the dull gray sky disappointed her. She expected bright and sunny weather for their embarking on a splendid month at Seastone Resort. _It's only the first day. It'll get better by tomorrow,_ she thought optimistically. She took a sip of her bottled water and tried to peer at what Joren was doing.

He looked up when he sensed her curious eyes. She sat back again and wordlessly held out some food for him from her tray. He rolled his eyes and accepted the offering.

"We're on a ferry in the Great Inland Sea and you're giving me an freaking apple. Déjà vu."

"Just eat it," she goaded. "By the way, what are you looking at?"

He held the screen away from her, but took a bite of the apple. "None of your business. Why don't you go play cards or something, huh?"

She set down her bottle and glared at him. "Maybe I don't _feel_ like playing cards."

"Tough luck," he snapped and took another bite. "Go."

Keladry folded her arms. She was on vacation, right? That meant she could do things and say things that she normally couldn't, or wouldn't… right? Perhaps it would be best to get a feel for it and start right _then_.

"Well, maybe I don't feel like being told what to do by a egotistical blonde asshole," she retorted. "Sometimes you just make me sick."

"That's not what you said last night," he said loud enough for everyone around to hear him.

Cleon and Neal exchanged wide-eyed looks. Faleron removed his hat from his face and sat up, also quite shocked. Keladry blushed beet red. She held up her hand and looked off set toward the director, who had choked on his donut.

"He is _so_ lying."

Cleon cringed. "Are you sure, Kel? There, um… _is_ a curious… 'mark' on your neck."

Her slap echoed in the air around them.

~~

_Episode 2: Best Friend_

(Scene: Cave at Seastone Restone)

Cleon tilted his head back when he felt a drop of water on his head. He frowned when another hit his forehead. He stepped to the side and nudged Faleron with his flashlight.

"Hey, look at this. Wow, here I thought this place would be boring. Guess I was wrong, huh?" he chuckled and leaned slightly over the rail to look at miniature glowing lakes beyond the rail, all raised above the ground level they were standing on. He could barely spot the planted lights below that caused the water to radiate such a pleasant glow. When he realized Faleron was not looking, he cleared his throat. "I wish I had come down here with ya when you went the first week. This place is cool to hang out in. Why is it slightly warmer in here?"

Faleron didn't talk. He only leaned his back on the secure metal rail and looked at his watch. The guide wouldn't call for everyone to proceed for another ten minutes. Low tide lasted for a while, but there was still a certain time everyone had to be off shore during the night.

When he didn't reply, Cleon tried to lighten the mood and jokingly flashed the beam at Faleron's face. The shorter young man turned away, his face set in a serious and temperamental expression. The taller man didn't know what to do. He fiddled with his flashlight for a few seconds, then looked up and said, "Are you mad at me?"

This time, Fal did respond-- just not verbally. He turned, stared at Cleon for about fifteen seconds, then turned away again. 

"Was it because… I was late getting here?" Cleon said with uncertainty. He was truly confused about his friend's attitude. 

Faleron spun around. "No. I was just surprised you showed up at all."

"What's that supposed to mean? I said that I'd show up, and… I did," Cleon said with a wave of his hands. "I mean, here I am! What the hell…?"

"I'll tell you what _hell _is! Hell is coming home to an empty hotel room and having to slave over the stove for a dinner that isn't even eaten! It's vacuuming the carpet around the bed and putting a mint on the pillow and— do you even care?" He burst into tears. "I am so unappreciated! Do you even know—"

Cleon held up his hands, face pale. "Whoa, dude. You're starting to channel the spirits of disgruntled hotel maids."

Faleron blinked. He put a hand to his forehead. His other hand rested on his stomach. "I think you're right."

"Dude, did you eat those mushrooms in Lalasa's bag?"

He thought silently for a minute. "… You know, that would explain a _lot_… "

~~

_Episode 3: Home For A While_

(Scene: Morning of departure from Seastone Resort)

"Where are they? And I thought everybody was worried that Neal and I were going to be late," Cleon complained. He drank his orange juice greedily, savoring the flavor and the pulpy content. His roommate was asleep aside him, cheek pressed against the tabletop and limbs as loosely hanging as a puppet's without its strings.

Lalasa, sitting on her beloved's lap, only shrugged and blissfully smiled up at Roald, who blushed and shyly smiled back. Numair was trying to get his coffee just right. Half an hour ago, he'd lectured a waitress on the different varieties of coffee and the way to get it just right with added milk, cream, and sugar. Of course, no one had any idea what the Councilman was talking about, and he was ignored.

Faleron realized he was the only normal person in the group right then, with his best friend now closing in on his third glass of O.J. He stood up. "I'll go get them."

When he got to the room, no one answered his knock or his intercom call. Maybe they were both still asleep, though he doubted that was a possibility. Last time he had roomed with the mostly impassive, mostly rude special operative, Joren had woken up at every little thing. Sometimes, the blonde went out on midnight walks and ended up sleeping somewhere else more remote.

_Just break into their room. It's a measly hotel lock. No biggie._

He did just that and hoped no camera was watching him. 

Inside, he found both beds unmade. He tripped on three shoes, two that had to have belonged to Joren, and one belonging to Kel. The light from the bathroom was on. Were they both in there? He couldn't hear anything, but the hum of the air conditioning.

Tiptoeing, Faleron entered the bathroom. He saw the toilet with both lid and seat up. He saw towels carelessly fallen onto the floor from their perch next to the bathtub. He saw Keladry and Joren asleep _in_ the bathtub. He saw-- 

_Wait._

He ogled at the sight of them. He paused, just long enough for the director offstage to worry. Then he stripped off his shirt and climbed in, settling himself on top of Keladry and Joren. Immediately, Keladry squeaked and flailed around.

"CUT!" the director yelled. "King, what are you doing?"

Joren growled from the bottom of the pile. "Yes, King, what the hell _do_ you think you're doing?"

"Faleron, get off!" Kel shrieked.

The former thief snorted. "Oh, please, Kel. As if your fantasies don't include yourself with two half naked guys in a bathtub."

"It most certainly does not!" she cried.

Cleon let out a loud wolf-whistle. "You're blushing, babe! You know what that means!"

Keladry screamed at the top of her lungs. The director covered his ears and sighed.

~~

_Episode 4: Prodigy Wannabe_

(Scene: Lerant's Apartment)

"Hey! Ice Cream Pants!" Cleon shouted as soon as Faleron entered Lerant's apartment. The redhead jumped over the couch he was sitting on to stagger to the door. He excitedly extracted a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to the confused former thief.

Merric stood by, smiling slightly, still taking in the whole scene. He pretended not to notice the odd greeting Cleon had given his cousin, and figured it was some inside joke. The Riders were all crowded around the holo screen, everyone either eating flame broiled burgers or the salad that Fianola had made. All of them seemed to be avidly cheering for one team or another, often arguing with each other who was going to win.

Faleron tried to flatten out the paper against the wall. "What the hell is this?"

Cleon, abashed, rocked back and forth impatiently on his heels. "I got really bored today at the station, waiting for Chief Whiteford to give me a crappy job, so I got to thinking about Kalasin... and next thing I knew, I was writing a poem for her." He bit his lip and tried to read over his best friend's shoulder. "So...? What do you think?"

The shorter man frowned. He wandered off the set and whispered into the director's ear. He pointed to the paper in his hand and made some more gestures. The director also made a face and took the paper from him. He groaned.

"Um, Cleon?"

"Yes?"

"This is supposed to be a poem with the word sunrise in it."

"And it's not?"

"It's an advertisement for Tropicana Orange Juice."

"Mmm… orange juice."

The director rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Homer Simpson."

~~

_Episode 5: A Date and a Convict_

(Scene: Faleron's apartment building)

She strolled, well actually she stalked, through the rotating doors in front of the lobby, curtly nodded to the man at the desk, and stopped in front of the wall with the list of residents and a button besides each name. 

She eventually spotted 'King' and pressed the button. "Hey, it's me."

There was a bit of static before she received a reply. "Good morning to you, too, Officer. I'll tell the other fellows that you're here. Come on up."

She stepped back and pivoted on her foot, ready to turn and stride over to the elevator. Before her eyes left the wall of residents, she noticed something else. A sticker resembling dice was placed on the Faleron's nameplate. The corner of her eyes crinkled, having felt it was a pleasant little thing to see in the midst of her stressful state. 

When Keladry arrived at Faleron's door, she could hear her friends' presence. 

"Why don't you come over here and I can _tell_ you where to stick it!"

"Oh, shut your pie-hole!"

"Oh yeah? —Wait… shut my what?" 

"Just shut up! Give me the Easy-Cheez, damn it!"

There was a light scuffle. And then the unmistakable thump of a body colliding with the floor. Keladry couldn't help it. She blushed and backed away from the door. The director frowned.

"Is something wrong, Mindelan?"

Her head jerked in his direction. "Eheh… No, no. It's nothing. For a moment there, I was just thinking that—oh, never mind." She rolled her eyes. "Whoever thought it was a smart idea to put Easy-Cheez in the script?"

"Oh?" Cleon said as he opened the door and grinned at her. "I know what you were thinking of! Bad Kel! Dirty mind! Only you and Joren do kinky things like that!"

Everywhere around the set, people winced as they heard the unmistakable sound of the flat of Keladry Mindelan's palm on Cleon Kennan's cheek.

Neal clucked his tongue. "Kennan, you have got to learn when to keep that big mouth of yours shut."

~~

_Episode 6: Emerging_

(Scene: Pool hall, Keladry's birthday)

"This seat taken?" an unfamiliar voice spoke. 

"Go ahead," she answered without looking. She turned and a wave of apprehension coursed through her body, making her hair stand on end. 

The man next to her looked about Neal's age. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his earthy red tie was loosened around his neck. "Who are they playing against?"

She blinked. "Oh, uh..." Her mind searched for the name. Yellow and forest green uniforms could only mean... "Springdale."

He pointed his finger casually at the screen, noting the statistics running along the bottom. "I think Springdale's doing fine, being the Underdog and all."

"They've got Frederick Apollo for their pitcher. Good guy," she commented, while drumming her fingers on the bar top. She secretly hoped he didn't think that she was bored. That would be rude. 

"But the Knights have Leonard Raynelle. He's their powerhouse hitter."

The two strangers began a well-developed conversation on baseball. Keladry hardly ever watched the game. Most of her knowledge came from the Riders when they invited her to watch sports with them upstairs. She couldn't believe all that was paying off. She was actually having an ordinary talk with a man she didn't know.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. She'd stopped in the middle of a comparison of the experienced players and the new rookies. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Irons. Liam Irons. At your service."

There was a cry of outrage on the other side of the scene. Joren stomped over, face red. His fists clenched at his sides as he approached Liam and tapped him on the shoulder. The other man turned around, took one look at Joren, and fought hard not to laugh.

"Yes?"

The blond biker growled. "_That_, sir, is MY gag! The James Bond gag was so _my_ gag ever since the first season's bloopers! That's it! Let's take this outside where I can kick your lily ass!"

Faleron waltzed up. He cleared his throat. "Boys, boys! There's an easier way to settle this."

Keladry peeked over her shoulder. She nervously croaked, "There is?"

"Why, of course!

_Five minutes later:_

The spotlight shined on a blank spot on the set. Faleron smiled at his audience while sporting a sports suit and a cheesy smile. He gestured toward the spotlight in one hand while holding a microphone up to his mouth in the other. "Our first contestant, please!"

Liam strutted into the limelight, wearing black slacks and a black turtleneck. He struck a pose, with his hands on his hips. Off to the side, Cleon held up a sign, prompting the audience to make sounds of wonder and awe.

"Ooh! Ahh!" they appropriately murmured.

"Mr. Irons comes all the way to us from Tusaine! He enjoys killing, deceiving, and doing his employer's will. Let's give it up for Liam Irons, ladies and gentleman!"

There was a loud round of applause. Liam bowed graciously and moved over to the side. The spotlight followed him. Another one appeared where Liam had been standing. Faleron made another grand gesture with his arms.

"Contestant number two! Joren Stone!"

Joren came into the light, also wearing an all-black ensemble. He sported a black leather jacket, a black shirt, and tight black jeans. He folded his arms and glared at the audience.

"Mr. Stone originally hails from the Yamanis, where his parents were brutally murdered and where he was psychologically and emotionally damaged! A big round of applause for Mr. Stone!"

Joren walked over to where Liam was standing. The two men glared at each other. Before either could throw witty retorts at the other, Lalasa emerged from the edge of the set, wearing a silver sequin leotard and bunny ears. She handed an envelope to Faleron, who gave her a strange look.

"And the winner is…" Faleron frowned. He scratched his head. "Raoul Goldenlake?"

A whoop came from somewhere in the darkened crowd. Raoul pushed his way through and took the microphone from Faleron. He wiped away an imaginary tear and waved to the audience. 

"Thank you! Thank you! Being older than both these amateurs has allowed me to experience _far_ more adventures and James-Bond-like situations than these two will ever know! Aw, I always knew I had more in common with Sean Connery than anyone else!"

Joren and Liam, both extremely outraged and flabbergasted, stalked off the stage. Raoul snorted.

"Drama queens…"

~~

_Episode 7: A Letter To You_

(Scene: The Alpheus restaurant)

"Uuuggghhh," Roald groaned as he started to come to.

"Come on... This way."

They stumbled to the bathroom. Faleron got Roald seated up on top of the counter. Then he cupped his hands under a faucet, waiting for the sensors to turn it on. When it did, he filled his hands with water and splashed it into Roald's face.

"Ah!" Roald cried as his eyes fully opened and he sputtered the water that had gotten into his mouth. "What... What? Why am I so tired?" Even after being doused with water, he leaned back on the mirror and closed his eyes again.

"Don't go to sleep! Wake up! Tell me what happened!" Faleron urged. 

Roald shrugged weakly. He sniffed. "I... I was listening to them like you said. And," he yawned. "I wanted to get the taste out of my mouth from the food. So I drank my whole glass of water. Man, that stuff tastes like dishwater. Must be my affected taste buds."

"Roald, I ate the food and drank the water. It doesn't taste like dishwater."

"Well maybe they got lazy back there and ran my glass under a faucet."

Faleron rubbed his chin. "It must be that horribly suspicious fellow whom Keladry is here with. That terribly, terribly deceptive man who really works for Enishi, but none of us finds out until episodes later. Yes, yes. It's his fault. I don't know why, but I'm sure I'll remember in five seconds."

_Five seconds later:_

"Line!"

"His name is Liam," Roald yawned. "Should I recite the whole thing for you?"

The director threw his hands up in the air. "Argh! CUT!"

Faleron snorted. "It's not my fault the man is so uninteresting that I can't remember his name. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my trailer."

"Drama queens," the director groaned. "I'm surrounded by drama queens!"

~~

_Episode 8: Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part I_

(Scene: Hattie's house)

"Get over here and pick your clothes."

In another universe, they could be in a department store. Paxton could have been a father, insisting to his son to buy clothing for the new school year. Instead, they were choosing their disguises for an operation that might cost them their lives. Joren went to the closest rack and started looking for sizes that fit him. Most of the items on the cart were darkly colored. Paxton started on a similar cart, occasionally picking out something like a red alligator skin jacket. Joren wrinkled his nose at the choices and kept his own selections simple and dark.

Hattie noticed and intervened. She went through the clothing he had already picked and learned his size. Without informing Joren of her idea, she also began selecting clothing and replacing Joren's stack of clothes. Twenty minutes later, Joren examined his stack and noticed most of his picks were gone. Hattie smiled and patted the table. "You still need a jacket."

"I'm not wearing this stuff."

Paxton was at the metal cabinets, unlocking them with a key from who-knows-where. He reached in and pulled out a wig, plopping it onto his head and looking at himself through the mirror. He began to nod his head and sing.

" _I'm Paxton and my afro suits me—don't have to clean it, just wash it once.  All the girls like it 'cause its fluffy—I really like it, 'cause I don't have to brush—_"

"…Uh, Pax?"

The elder man snatched off the wig and whirled around. "Yes?"

Joren blinked. "Nothing."

(Author: The tune is actually from the short scene "Nabeshin's Vacation" from Excel Saga episode 5. Yay for Nabeshin!)

~~

_Episode 9: Welcome to the Killing Grounds Part II_

(Scene: Coram's apartment)

"Grab that last container and start splashing the living room," Joren ordered. 

"Right," Coram nodded. He handed his things to Kimmy, who was still sobbing pitifully. He ran past his coffee table and started dousing the kitchen, with its easily burning wooden cupboards. He spotted something large and black behind his couch. Joren went behind the couch and started to drag one of the two black things forth.

Coram squinted in the dim moonlight. When he recognized the large objects that Joren was dragging toward the bedrooms, he gasped. "Ye stole cadavers from the hospital? Are ye out of yer mind?!"

The cadavers were meant to help new surgeons learn their practice. Tonight, they were meant to help give new life to two people Joren wanted to see free of it all. Joren wiped the sweat off his brow. He grunted as he lifted the corners of the body bag again. "Get the other end!"

"I'm not touchin' any corpse!" Coram cried.

"You won't have to! I will," Joren snapped. "Now get on the other end!"

Coram moved toward the opposite end. As he bent down to touch the bag, he gulped. Then unexpectedly, he fainted. His body hit the floor with a thud.

Joren went over and nudged him with his shoe.

"Joren! Don't do that!"

The undercover operative shrugged. "I just wanted to see if he was alive."

The director was close to tearing his hair out. "Someone get the smelling salts! Coram fainted again!"

While random aides and assistants rushed about in panic, Joren continued to nudge the unconscious body with his foot. He smiled.

~~

_Episode 10: An Interlude_

(Scene: Keladry's apartment)

"Liam, it's been too long!" she greeted. Keladry stepped aside, so he could enter. If his intercom greeting had been received with confusion, she didn't show it. (In fact, a delightful shiver had gone up her spine, but she wouldn't let anyone know that. The thought of it being delightfully scary thrilled and embarrassed her.)

He dutifully offered her the flowers. "I hope you like them."

Kel took them into her arms and caressed the soft petals. "Yellow roses?"

They went inside so Kel could put the flowers in some water. While she did this, he walked around the living room with his hands clasped behind him, examining her home. He smiled at her from the sofa, where he finally decided to recline. 

"Yellow is for sunshine and sunshine reminds me of you," he said after a few seconds. "Red is awfully trite. I would never give red roses to a woman. It would be an insult to her radiance." He chuckled. "Yellow sunshine is radiant, isn't it? It wakes up the world every single day."

Elsewhere on the set, fanboys waiting for filming to finish for the day all looked down at the bouquets of red roses in their hands and cried. They fled the set before Keladry could see them, flinging their gifts every which way. 

Fianola picked one up, assuming it was for her. "Ooh! I have an admirer!"

Yuki beside her started to laugh and couldn't make herself stop.

~~

_Episode 11: Cupid, Take a Hike!_

(Scene: Carnival)

When Kalasin returned, she smiled at Cleon for the first time that night. "I'm ready for that haunted house now. Aren't you?"

Cleon couldn't believe his eyes or ears at first. He was about to leap up into the air and yell 'yahoo' for all the carnival to hear, but he restrained himself and simply nodded. He crossed his fingers behind his back as they started walking and whispered a tiny 'thank you' to Faleron, wherever the poker professional was.

The haunted house was one of the best that Cleon had been in for a long time. They got into the first car of a set of five. Kalasin actually laughed good-naturedly at the child who sat behind her when the child had pointed and exclaimed how pretty she was.

Cleon turned around. "You're darn right about that, kid!"

Needless to say, she blushed.

The carts jerked forward. Black wooden doors opened, and the sound effects of ghouls and goblins took surrounded them. It was as cheesy as could be. They passed into different rooms of the haunted house. Animatronics and actors played out supposedly scary and mysterious scenes.

Ghosts created by lasers flew over their heads. Chandeliers shook and the roasted pig on the table mechanically came to life. Possessed dolls asked creepily if the cart riders would play with them and claws reached out desperately from holes in the walls.

Kalasin suddenly reached out for the bar in front of her and gripped it lightly when the carts took an unexpected, jerky turn and rolled quickly down into the basement of the house. Halfway down the ramp, the cart stopped. It happened so quickly that the lap bar loosened, sending both the carts riders tumbling over the front and onto the track. They groaned.

Neal and Roald whistled from their scene on the opposite side of the set. 

"That looks painful."

"And embarrassing," Neal added. "Shall we point and laugh?"

"We shall." The started to guffaw with laughter, slapping their thighs and pointing to the humiliated couple. Cleon sat up and gave them the finger. Then Kalasin slapped him for his other hand, wandering places it shouldn't.

~~

_Episode 12: Chase_

(Scene: The Royal Costume Shop)

~~

_"__This is Keladry Mindelan, First Class, District T1. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep. (beep)__"___

"Hey, Kel! It's Lalasa. Roald and I just wanted to wish you a Happy Holiday from here In Copper City. I know… you're probably out with your boyfriend or something, but do me a favor and wish the rest of the boys Happy Holiday for us, okay?  Make a wish on the brightest star you see! Don't forget! Take care and see you soon. Bye!"

The automated answering machine recorded the message. A tiny red light began blinking on it. The machine would go unanswered for the rest of the holiday, since its owner was currently out performing her duties. Keladry spent most of the day sleeping, preparing herself for the full night shift that would cause her to stand sentinel with Major Ulliver Linden at The Royal Costume Shop.

Coffee was her greatest weapon. That and cherry flavored caffeine gum that lost its flavor after a mere five minutes. She feared drowsiness the most out of the whole arrangement. The likelihood of attack on one of the most celebrated days of the year seemed next to none.

"Would you like some?" She offered one of her thermoses to Ulliver.

He glanced warily at the coffee. "I don't drink coffee."

"CUT!" the director shouted. "Ulliver! In this scene, you drink coffee! You like coffee!"

The actor frowned. "But I really don't."

Keladry rolled her eyes. "Well, couldn't you just swallow some and drink something else afterwards to wash away the taste."

"No, it's not the taste that bothers me."

"Is it the caffeine?" the director asked, fed up and very impatient. He called over his shoulder again. "Someone get me Decaf!"

Ulliver shook his head. "It's not that either."

Keladry was close to snarling at him. She had been working way too hard to have a scene messed up likes this for no good reason. She leaned toward him. "Well, what's wrong then?"

He blushed. "I'd rather not tell you. It's… a guy thing."

"Oh please. Spare me the 'guy' comments and tell me what it is."

The actor reluctantly cupped his hands around her ear and whispered to her. Her face scrunched up. She jerked away.

"Are you _kidding_ me? That's the most stupid superstition I've ever heard! I mean, _shrinking_—"

"It's true!" he protested.

"No it's not!"

He snorted. "How would you know? Do _you_ have a—"

"Don't finish that sentence if you value your life."

~~

_Episode 13: A Letter to You Part II_

(Scene: Academy flashback, cafeteria)

When they arrived at their table again, another teenage boy whom Keladry had never seen before was sitting across from Neal. Owen sat beside his roommate, so that caused her to set down her tray and sit beside this new stranger.

She kept quiet while Owen greeted the newcomer. He was about Keladry's height, with blond hair that stuck up in soft spikes in the front. She couldn't help but glance nervously at the archaic black tattoo pattern on one of his temples. It was very distracting.

"Oh! Zell, I want you to meet Keladry," Neal said, gesturing toward her. "Kel, this is the guy I was talking about during Combat. He's in your grade, too."

The tattooed boy offered his hand to her. She shook it. His grip was definitely stronger than hers, but maybe it was because she wasn't used to the feel of gloves on hands. Zell wore black sparring gloves with the fingers cut off. His presence indubitably intimidated her.

"So! You're the cute girl! Oh, geez, guys, did you say she was only fourteen? Dang it! I just turned eighteen a week ago…" He sighed. "If you weren't jailbait, this _training_ stuff would have been so much fun."

Keladry's hand itched to slap him. But she thought better of it and slapped Neal instead.

"Ow! What did you do that for?!"

"I know you put him up to it!" She growled. "CUT!"

The director stood in the back, banging his head against the wall.

~~

_Episode 14: Gravedigger_

(Scene: racetrack)

The sound of revving engines and tires squeaking of pavement was almost like music to his ears. The adrenalin and excitement he received whenever he came here had never truly left him. He saw that now. It didn't feel wrong. After five years, it felt soothing. It was second nature.

Joren went inside the same parking garage as the first night he'd ever raced and discovered that his usual corner had remained untouched. He parked in the shadows. A few other men and women noticed him. They were mechanics or riders, and none of them had ever seen him before. Amazingly, they didn't eye him like competition, though they gazed at him with large frightened eyes like rabbits on the run. 

"'Scuse me."

Joren took off his helmet. He gave the stranger a once over. A teenage boy, in racing gear… multiple ear piercings and bleached hair. _How typical,_ Joren thought. "What?"

 "You're 'im, aren't ya?" the boy asked, in a corrupted Port Legann accent which, _uncorrupted_, made anyone who spoke it seem sophisticated—even the pierced punk. Unfortunately, the boy didn't know how to use his accent well.

It threw Joren off. He shrugged and started to walk past. The boy jogged after him, keeping one step behind. "Go away, kid."

"T'is you! I thought it was! I mean… everyone knows the Jackal by 'is 'elmet, but I know about 'is ride, too! And you're 'im, aren't ya? Tommy told me I was out of my bleedin' mind when I pointed you out and said you were 'im," he grinned and chuckled, overcome with excitement. Joren stopped and turned around.

Joren stopped and turned around. "I can't understand a word you're saying. That has to be the worst attempt at an accent I've ever heard."

The boy blushed. "But, Mr. King taught me."

From the director's side, the man in question stood up. "Yeah, Stone! What's wrong with my teaching?"

"It sucks."

"You want to take this outside! Come on! I'll fight you!"

"Boys! Settle down!" the director ordered them. They backed off. They continued to snarl and bare their teeth. It reminded the poor director of mad dogs.

The young boy actor whose accent was horrible decided to speak his mind. "Why not let them have a go? I'd bet ten on the blondie!"

Joren turned to the boy, eyes twitching. "What did you call me?"

"Eep."

~~

_Episode 15: Seems Like_

(Scene: Keladry's kitchen)

He sent his heart out to her, just like he had when he first met her. Jokes and witty comments may have been absent this time, but Keladry could still feel his sincerity. She let out a deep shuddering breath. 

"Liam broke up with me." She paused.  "What's that thing you and Cleon say? No biggie?"

Neal gaped at her. "How can you say that?! Kel, this is a big deal!"

"No, it isn't. We're not dating anymore. End of story."

"I hate it when you do this. Okay, fine. When you're ready to talk I'll be down the hall."

He started for the door. Kel glanced at the microwave. 

"Don't you want lunch?"

He looked back at her and sighed. "There you go, just ignoring the subject again. You only hear what your perfectionist self wants to hear. Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself."

She listened for the door to close behind him. Then she removed the food from the microwave and sat down to eat. It felt eerie being alone that day. She was accustomed to eating with Liam during the week and with her friends during the weekends. To wash away her insecurity, she turned on the Holoscreen and watched the news.

The dead boy that Liam had mentioned in the graveyard was in the news. The DJPF had still not found the hit-and-run driver who recklessly killed him.

"How sad," she murmured, a little more emotionless than she'd intended. Keladry blinked rapidly and concentrated on her food again.

After she finished lunch and set her dishes in the automatic dishwasher, she entered her living room and planned on a whole afternoon of watching news reports. She passed her answering machine, which had a blinking red light in the corner of it. Keladry frowned and pressed the button.

_"__¿__Quieres tomar algo? (pause) Do you want something to drink?__"_

_"Sí, quiero una cerveza. (pause)__Yes, I__'__d like a beer.__"___

_"__You see? Spanish is easy! Now for just $25.95, you can own the extension pack AND a free cassette player! Limited offer! Call now while supplies last!__"___

Keladry frowned. "I think we have the wrong tape." 

~~

_Episode 16: Bide Your Time_

(Scene: Liam's car)

_"…__ignore him like the rest of us?_

"Yes," Liam murmured, leaning closer toward the mini speaker set up in his car. "Why not?"

_"__If I were as good as you, I__'__d care about everyone, too__—"_

He turned off the speaker after that. His hand tightened around the steering wheel. 

"Not everyone. You can't care about everyone because they'll make you choose a side sooner or later," he muttered bitterly. "It will be me you choose, Keladry Mindelan! Or else there will be hell to pay! _Just you wait, Kel Mindelan, just you wait! You'll be crying but your tears will be too late!_"

Keladry frowned. She poked Cleon in the side. "Is he singing that thing from _My Fair Lady_? The song that Eliza Dolittle sings?"

"I think he is. Hey! Want to see if he'll do the other song?" Cleon started dancing around her. _"The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains!"_

"Uh…"

~~

_Episode 17: Gone_

(Scene: Streets of Tusaine)

"Why not? We have steady jobs that don't require us to race around to disarm a bomb or risk our lives. We've become mundane and boring! _Bor-ing_," she pronounced each syllable loud and clear so he could not mistake it.

He looked at Lalasa with a worried face. "You're missing that exciting, night club life, aren't you?"

Her stomach twisted itself in a knot due to her guilt. "Sometimes. But I'd rather be here with you. Really, I would. Especially after that stupid fight we had months ago. I'm glad to be settled!"

He blushed. "Can we use another word besides 'settled'?"

"Why? Because it reminds you of marriage?" she taunted.

His whole face was now red and she _knew_ it wasn't from the frosty winds.

Lalasa giggled. She leaned toward him and planted a quick kiss on his nose. He smiled shyly at her like a boy on his first date. He still amazed her with an attitude she could only describe as Roald-ness.

His expression changed. "Isn't that Stone? With a rifle?!"

Joren put a finger to his lips. "Shh! Be vewy, vewy quiet! I'm huntin' wabbit!"

Lalasa couldn't help it. She burst out laughing at his Elmer Fudd impression. Roald grinned. He patted Joren on the shoulder. 

"Whoa! I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"You owe me twenty, Jasson. Cough it up."

The director was close to tearing his hair out. "You people are going to make me get white hairs!"

"As if you don't have them right now," Joren retorted.

The director, horrified, ran away in search of a mirror.

~~

_Episode 18: Shades of Gray_

(Scene: Keladry's reminiscing)

A sly smile crept onto Keladry's face. It had been disconcerting then, but how she wished he would say it again to her now. He was less burdened then. He was more at peace with the lot that Heaven had given him. 

_So what does that tell me about him now? That he wants to shoot himself because it hurts so badly? _Her inner hope was nearly dashed to pieces, but she willed herself to remain strong. For him. 

Two hours passed by. She discovered that she cared very little for the Tkaa Project, which she had been assigned to look for. Dozens of officers were working on it, she reasoned. They did not need a perfectionist like her who only bumbled around, like her partner claimed. No, her attention was demanded by something else. Someone else. 

It was at his apartment door that she finally stopped to rest. Fully aware that he was not at home, she still leaned up against his door, pressing her forehead to the cool surface. Would it be too sentimental to say that she suddenly smelled his scent there? Keladry had never been that mushy or romantic, but it felt so right.

"I love you, Joren Stone," she said to the empty air around her.

She paused. Then she frowned. "CUT!"

The director leapt up from his chair. "What is it now? That was perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

Keladry folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "So you're telling me all of a sudden, she's willing to admit that some guy who wouldn't give a rat's ass about her is 'the one'?" She scoffed. "Ha! This is some pretty messed up stuff, sir! I say we bring in a new writer!"

The director flinched. "Um… sure, if you have a death wish."

"Huh?"

All of a sudden, Keladry found herself in the middle of a field, surrounded by cute and cuddly creatures, which cooed at her and frolicked in the flowers. She screamed.

Elsewhere, a sadistic writer started to laugh. The characters of the story all shuddered.

~~

_Episode 19: Breaking_

(Scene: DJPF Station, Tusaine Branch)

"They have a reason to be there. They're the legislative ones. After that whole Immortals mess, I'd be suspicious toward 'hush-hush' science projects, too." He held up one finger. "Don't forget, the Council funds that department. I'd be worried about my investment, too, if I were them." He sneezed. 

"Whoa, are _you_ getting sick?"

Neal glared at him. "If I do, I'm going to blame it on you. I've barely been off the disabled list! I don't need to be sick right now!"

The redhead chuckled. "It's the cold weather, man. We're Tortallians. We're too used to warmth in the winter. This place up north… it's…"

"Aggravating," Neal finished. He turned, and pushed off from the back of Cleon's chair with both feet —causing the redhead to brace himself against the desk. 

"Hey!"

"I'm going to buy some chicken soup in one of those Styrofoam cups from downstairs. Want some?"

His companion's fingers darted dexterously over the keyboard. He focused on the screen. "No, I'm cool. I think I'm going to make some calls to the Council. You know, play the detective and private investigator like Dick Tracy."

Neal stood up and rolled his eyes. There was a certain element of mirth absent from his friend's features. He didn't wish to be biased, but after seeing Cleon act like a clown so many times, he found it hard to believe the sharpshooter was serious. Neal was tempted to demand his real identity. Surely, the man seated there was an imposter.

He settled for an agreeable nod of the head and started for the door. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, _Dick_."

From behind him, Cleon started laughing. He laughed so hard that he leaned his forehead down on the desk and tried to muffle his laughter, but he couldn't.

"What's so funny? Was it because the script made me call you Dick?"

Cleon wiped a tear from his eye. "That and the toilet paper trailing from your shoe."

Neal blushed deep red and looked down. "Oh."

~~

_Episode 20: Genius Arrives, Fashionably Late_

(Scene: Keladry's apartment)

"Here's to the higher things, then," he said fleetingly. He should have brought some more of that wine so he could have toasted to the statement. In the end, he swung up his legs onto the couch and slipped into a peaceful nap.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Thom opened his eyes immediately. He sat up and smoothed the wrinkles on his shirt. He was going to make a good impression—one of confidence and mystery. The last thing he wanted to look like was a slob. 

He banished the majority of his fears and pressed down on the intercom button. "Mindelan residence. All fiends welcome."

"Cute," was the sarcastic reply. "Open the damn door."

Thom did so. As soon as the door had slid open a crack, Liam's fingers curled around the edge of it and tried to push it the rest of the way through. The door remained stuck in place. There was a curse from the other side of the door and Liam tried to force it open. Thom smirked.

"Prop defect!" he called to the director.

"No! No! I can get this!" Liam insisted, putting his strength to use. The door still did not budge. There was another curse. Then, the barrel of a small handgun was stuck through the crack and pointed at Thom. "Screw it! I can do the scene like this!"

Thom doubled over with laughter. The director sighed.

"Just give me five minutes! I can get this stupid door open!" Liam shouted.

"Looks like someone wants to prove his manliness," Faleron commented.

The director rolled his eyes. "Or the lack thereof."

~~

_Episode 21: When I Was Young_

(Scene: Pool hall)

Within another half an hour, the party was in full swing. Neal had started a surprisingly goofy game of building a house of cards on one of the pool tables. The pool players accidentally knocked the card houses over with their cues as they passed by. And though the pool hall did not really contain space to dance, a few officers and civilians did so anyway. The rest of the guests sat at the bar, conversing with each other.

Keladry wasn't much in the mood for building a house of cards with Neal and Owen (their team was winning; the little structure was 3 levels high while Ulliver and Wolset were at two levels). She also didn't feel inclined to dance by herself (Joren dance with her? Phsaw) and she usually never danced anyway.

"Ha! I can dance! Who says I can't? Get over here Mindelan! You, over there! Put on some tango music!" Joren yelled. He grabbed his partner by the wrist and dragged her to the space cleared away for the impromptu dance floor. The lights were turned off.

Then, a spotlight fell on the couple. Joren had now changed clothing to that of a black tuxedo. Keladry was still in her normal clothes, but she had no idea what was going on. She glanced around her frantically, wondering why everyone was now shaking maracas and tambourines. 

"Sir!" she called nervously to the director. 

"Mmph! Mmmppphhh!" the director tried to say. He was gagged and bound to his chair with heavy corded rope. 

The music began playing. Another spotlight shined down on three singers behind three microphone stands: Buri, Raoul, and Flyndon. The three singers started dancing along as they sang in Spanish. They all had roses tucked behind their ears and wore red sequin dresses.

"Has everyone gone insane?" Keladry screamed as Joren began to lead her into a tango that she awkwardly kept up with. She tried to escape his grasp, but then he would simply twirl them around and make her loose her footing. "WAH!"

Then Liam, also dressed to kill, cut in. He shoved Joren away and began to lead Kel in a frighteningly faster dance, making sure to dip her down toward the floor. Keladry was getting nauseous from all the twirling and spinning. She couldn't coordinate her own movements and was consequently dragged and pushed as they danced. 

"Someone must have spiked the punch!" Keladry cried, feeling herself spun away from Liam, just in time to be caught by someone else.

Ulliver put his hands on her waist and lifted her up into the air, still turning and turning. Keladry flailed her arms and screamed again. She was grateful when he finally put her down. But then he had her sweep around the whole perimeter of the dance floor, while he winked at all the other people in the room.

"Kill me! Kill me now!" Keladry begged. "Goddess! Please! Strike me down!"

Her dance partner picked her up in his arms. She didn't even fight it any more. She welcomed her ultimate disaster. And she also welcomed the moment when she realized that she was hallucinating from a spiked drink. 

"AH!" she shrieked as she was tossed up in the air. She shut her eyes tight. Then, she fell into someone else's arms. Kel reluctantly opened on eye and looked. Then she opened both and stared wide-eyed at her newest dance partner. "Zell?"

The one-time guest star wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. He would have spoken something, but he was holding a red rose between his teeth. He set her feet down and began leading her into the most seductive of dances, pressing his body close and swaying her around slowly, dipping her even _more_ slowly and taking care to guide his hands to her waist.

Then all at once, all her dance partners went onto the floor again. They surrounded Keladry, who was literally having a panic attack, and hoisted her up onto their shoulders. As she looked up and discovered a camera staring straight down at her, her face turned red and she bellowed, "SULIA SERAFINE! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The director, hopped forward, still sitting tied and gagged in his chair. He fell over and landed on his side. The gag came loose, and he was able to speak. "I quit! I freaking quit!"

Sulia walked onto the set. She glanced down at her director, then at her cast. The group of men was still tossing Keladry up in the air over and over again. But she still didn't find it as amusing as seeing the Raoul, Buri, and Flyndon _all_ dressed up in sequin dresses and shaking their butts for the camera.

"Oh, my. Maybe I shouldn't have asked Cleon to think of the last blooper."

~~

Author's notes: Ta da! I hope you laughed very hard for this season's bloopers! Season 2 is now officially ended! And for those of you who were waiting, I am working fervently on The Gift, Episode 5. It is more than halfway done, and a lot bigger than episodes of that series have been in the past! Hope you find it in you to review and tell me what a weird blooper collection this has been… Until next time! Ciao!


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